


While Rome Burned

by AutisticWriter



Series: A Matter of Choice [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Abortion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark, Episode Related, Established Relationship, F/M, Fear, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gender Dysphoria, Gladiators, Goodbyes, Heavy Angst, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, LGBTQ Themes, Medical Procedures, Mental Health Issues, Misgendering, Nightmares, Packing, Panic Attacks, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Reproductive Rights, Reunions, Serial: s012 The Romans, Sexual Harassment, Slavery, Sleep, Swearing, Team TARDIS, Trans Ian Chesterton, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Pregnancy, Transphobia, Trauma, Violence, Vomiting, pro choice, pro-choice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-12-11 22:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11723679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: After being sold into the Roman slave trade, Ian goes through more terrible things in a few days that most people would in a lifetime. But when he reunites with Barbara and escapes to safety, his ordeal isn’t over.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A (dark and potentially triggering, so be careful if any of the things listed in the tags trigger you) look into how Ian and Delos' life in the slave trade might have gone. although it will mostly focus on Ian's life after he goes through trauma, the first chapter features depictions of rape and attempted sexual assault.
> 
> This story is also written by a 100% pro choice feminist, so pro-lifers probably won't want to read this story.

When Ian looked back, he realised just how quickly everything went wrong. It was horrifying to think that in the space of one day, he went from lounging around in the villa eating grapes and bickering with Barbara to being kidnapped and sold into the Roman slave trade. Somehow it was worse this way, knowing everything collapsed around him so suddenly. He supposed it was because it made the juxtaposition of his peaceful life in the villa and the horrors he went through as a slave so much more prominent. Or maybe it was something else.

But all of that was unimportant, really. All that Ian knew was that, in a single day, his life was changed forever.

\---

“Go on! Get up!”

Ian was jerked from a hazy sleep as one of the slave owners bellowed at them all. He marched up and down in front of their cages, rattling his sword against the metal bars.

“Go and relieve yourselves! Hurry, or you’ll miss your chance!”

Delos muttered a string of swearwords, but, luckily for Ian’s cellmate, the slave owners didn’t hear him. They hauled themselves upright, Delos nearly falling with dizziness; they were barely fed, so every one of the slaves were constantly dizzy with hunger. His chains dug into his wrists and Ian winced, feeling his skin blister and tear.

One of the guards opened their cell door and detached their ankle chains from the wall. Ian knew the slave owners were daring them all to run in moments like this, because they wouldn’t get far with their feet chained together; it would just be an excuse to kill them, something everyone seemed to like doing in Ancient Rome. And before he left the cell, the guard smacked Delos across the face with the handle of his sword. He _did_ hear him.

Delos swore, dabbing at the swollen welt on his cheek with the back of his hand. He winced at it stained his hand red with blood. Ian wanted to offer some reassurance, but he didn’t know what to say. After all, words wouldn’t stop a wound bleeding.

The guards marched them over to a cluster of trees, their hands on the handles of their swords; Ian knew they were threatening them without saying a word. They were saying ‘try anything and we will kill you’. The old woman from the neighbouring cell, the woman who knew Barbara, was coughing violently a few paces behind Ian, the coughs hacking and rough. He wondered if she had TB. He wondered if she was dying.

They reached the trees and the guards stopped.

“Women over there—” a slave owner said, pointing to a large bush behind the trees “—and men here,” he said, pointing to the largest tree.

Ian stared around as the slaves split up, the women wandering into the bush with their robes hitched up and then men standing in front of the tree and...

And it suddenly hit him that he was going to have to expose himself in front of a group of complete strangers. He felt sick, staring at the guards staring at the women, making lewd comments at a young woman as she emerged from the bushes, pulling her robes back down her legs. He stared at the men, urinating against the tree as though exposing your penis in front of other men was completely normal.

Because it was completely normal, Ian knew that; of course he knew that urinals were a thing even today and going to the toilet in public was normal in Rome. But Ian wasn’t normal. He was so conscious of his body. Even Barbara hadn’t seen him naked. The Doctor said he had ‘gender dysphoria’.

And where was he meant to go? He didn’t have a packer that he could use to urinate standing up (although he wished he had bought it now), but he couldn’t use the bushes. The women were using the bushes. He wasn’t a woman. He couldn’t be outed as trans. He couldn’t deal with being misgendered at a time like this. Ian let out a shuddering breath. He didn’t know what to do.

Something hit him hard in the back. Ian winced and turned around, finding himself looking at a guard.

“Get on with it, then,” the guard said.

“I, I don’t need to go,” Ian lied. The guard’s face told Ian that he wasn’t the only one who knew he was lying. He sighed. “I can’t go.”

“Why?” the guard said, a mocking tone to his voice. Ian tensed up, expecting to get a sword handle across the face. “Does your genitalia not work properly?”

He said it with a laugh, but Ian felt a hideous cramping sensation in his abdomen at his words. Ian wasn’t a man who swore often, but at that moment he longed to yell every curse he knew and run away as fast as he could. What was he going to do?

Ian shook his head. The guard laughed.

“We’ve got another defective one!” he called to one of the slave owners. “A woman with a cough and a man with broken genitals.”

The slave owner walked over, studying Ian like a zoo exhibit.

“We better survey the damage,” the slave owner said like Ian wasn’t there. “Prospective buyers need to know all about defects before they buy.” He stepped far too close to Ian, looking him up and down. “Go on, then. Show me.”

“Wh-what?” Ian spluttered, horrified yet also having anticipated that demand.

“Remove your robes. Show me your defective genitals.”

When Ian didn’t move, he nodded. Suddenly, a guard had a sword an inch from Ian’s neck.

“Show me, or...” he didn’t finish his sentence, but Ian could imagine many possible ways for that sword to injure him.

He spotted Delos behind the slave owner and met his friend’s eyes (and tried to avoid looking at the blood still oozing down his face). Delos knew Ian should just comply. After all, his death in a gladiator fight would be quick, but these guards would drag it out.

Ian sighed, long and shakily, and then hitched his tatty knee-length robes up to his waist and pulled his tight briefs down to his knees. His packer fell out and landed on the dusty ground. He stood in silence as the slave owners and guards stared at him, feeling his pulse beating in his neck. The guard took the sword away from Ian’s neck and picked up his packer. For a few seconds, he laughed... but then he realised what it was and dropped it like it was red hot.

“Eugh!” he groaned, wiping his hand on his robes.

He looked stupid, but none of them laughed this time. Ian gulped, knowing his situation was deadly serious.

“It’s a woman,” one of them finally said, staring at Ian’s groin before he had time to cover himself with his hands. “A woman pretending to be a man.”

They shoved Ian against the urine-soaked tree. He saw something in the man’s eyes, a terrifying expression mingled with the anger and amazement. The guards and slave owners crowded around him. And the man with the expression Ian didn’t know smiled a disgusting smile that made him want to vomit.

He wanted to fight, to tell them all he was a man, to escape and find Barbara and the Doctor and Vicki and leave this horrible place. But nothing happened. He didn’t fight then and run for it. The Doctor didn’t appear and save the day. There was no deus ex machina like in the cheesy films Ian hated so much.

No, the slave owner held onto Ian’s chains and said, “Get the others back into their cells. I’ll deal with this one.”

And before Ian had a chance to process what was happening, he pulled the chair fastening Ian’s wrists together and he stumbled, his ankles chained and his underpants pinning his knees together. He dragged Ian into the bushes, shoving him to the ground. Ian’s head smacked against the hard dusty ground and the man pinned him down.

He ripped Ian’s robes open, exposing his chest. His mastectomy scars were still prominent, and the slave owner looked almost disappointed. Maybe he would let Ian go.

But the man pulled his robes up. Ian saw an erection. He tried to struggle, but his head spun with concussion and the man was pinning him to the ground and he still had his ankle chains on. The slave owner rammed his tongue into Ian’s mouth, running his hands along his scars. Ian shuddered, trying to push him away but he couldn’t.

“You’d look much prettier with long hair,” he said in a disgusting whisper. “And where are your breasts?” He forced another kiss. “Still, never mind.”

And he positioned himself and before Ian knew what he was doing he penetrated him hard and it hurt unbearably, his skin tearing as the slave owner thrust into him so hard Ian felt himself bleeding and he tried not to scream and he whimpered instead but he just thrust harder, slamming into Ian as he begged the bastard to stop. And then Ian went limp, staring blankly up at the man as he raped him, unable to stop him violating him. This must have been his freeze reflex.

“Look at me!” the slave owner snarled, and Ian had to keep his eyes focused on his as the man raped him, because he didn’t know what else he would do to him if he refused.

And Ian understood the expression now. As those eyes forced him to stare into his as the horrible evil bastard of a man forced himself into Ian, raping him, he saw the look in his eyes again. And he knew what it reminded him of:

A predator that had cornered its prey.

\---

“Where are you, my dear?!”

The words set Barbara’s teeth on edge. She ducked down a corridor and ran into the huge palace kitchens, almost tripping over her long robes in her haste. But she didn’t notice. All she knew was that she had to escape from Nero.

“I know you’re hiding from me!”

His words were playful, a sing-song tone to his voice, but Barbara could hear the threats behind his words. She knew Nero was angry with her for running away from her. No one disobeyed Nero and got away with it.

She stumbled through the vast kitchens, both amazed and disgusted by the variety of strange and exotic foods being cooked over dozens of fires. She knew there were so many poor Romans who would kill to eat some of this food, yet Nero and his crowd literally made themselves vomit so they could eat more food. Barbara thought of her cellmate before she was sold to the palace, the poor old woman struggling with a horrible cough, and wished she could be here to eat enough food to keep herself going. And then she heard Nero’s voice again and realised that she wouldn’t want to put another woman in this palace for Nero to sexually harass. No one should have to spend their life running away from a man determined to sexually harass them (or worse).

Barbara rushed over to one of the chefs, who appeared to be preparing a meal with pieces of brain and other internal organs. It looked disgusting, but Barbara was hungry enough to eat anything. Not that she was in the mood for eating right now. Fear had a habit of making her feel very sick; to be honest, Barbara couldn’t remember the last time she ate anything. She supposed it must have been back before she and Ian got abducted.

And then she felt sicker than ever, because remembering what happened made her want to cry, and thinking about Ian made Barbara hope that her boyfriend was all right – that he wasn’t going through a horrible experience like this. Although, considering he was a slave, she knew his situation wasn’t going to be very good wherever he was. She just hoped he wasn’t in danger.

“Please hide me,” she said to the chef, whispering despite the high noise levels in the kitchens.

She expected him to laugh and order her out of the kitchen, or even tell Nero where she was. But he simply sighed and said, “Under there.”

He gestured to a small table by his feet with the blade of his knife, before going back to preparing the food. He obviously didn’t want to draw attention to them, and Barbara was grateful.

“Thank you,” Barbara said, tucking herself under the table before he changed his mind. It was uncomfortable and hot and cramped, but anywhere where she was safe from Nero was all right with Barbara. “Thank you.”

It was only when the threat had passed and she crept back into the corridors of the palace to find somewhere else to hide from the emperor that she realised what the chef had just done for her. He risked his life to let Barbara hide in his kitchen, surely knowing Nero would have him executed for stopping him from finding Barbara if he found out. And from his calm reaction, it was obvious that this wasn’t a new occurrence; he had obviously helped female slaves hide from Nero in the past.

After all, Barbara had a perfectly valid reason to be terrified of Nero. Because everyone in the palace (and possibly all of Rome) knew he wanted to have sex with his female slaves. Although Barbara knew the correct term was _rape_ his female slaves, because there was no way running for your life as a man with a massive power imbalance over you chases you and tries to catch you so he can have sex whether you want to or not was consensual. If she didn’t evade Nero, he was going to rape her.

\---

Half an hour (roughly, because he had no access to a clock) after the slave owner dragged Ian into the bushes, a guard unlocked the door to Delos and Ian’s cell. He hadn’t known what had happened to Ian (all he knew was that the slave owners were angry with Ian and cornered him as the guards rammed the rest of the slaves back into their cells, and then one of the slave owners dragged Ian into the bushes and he heard Ian scream), but when he saw his friend, all ambiguity was gone. He knew exactly what they had done to his friend.

Ian was unconscious as two guards dumped him inside the cell. Flat on his back, Delos realised that Ian was almost naked. His robes had been torn, exposing his scarred chest, and his strange tight undergarments were around his knees, whilst his robes were tucked up to his waist. And Ian’s thighs and genitals (they didn’t look like a man’s genitals, but they must have been; after all, Ian was a man) were coated in trails of drying blood and semen. He let out a small gasp, wanting to vomit and murder every slave owner outside his cell, because one of those bastards raped Ian.

He couldn’t see a head injury, so he presumed Ian had fainted from fear. That made sense, given the horror Ian had just been through. Part of him wanted to keep Ian unconscious, because he knew his friend was going to panic horribly when he woke up, but Delos knew he needed to regain consciousness. After all, he couldn’t stay like this forever.

“Ian?” he shook his friend’s shoulder, but Ian didn’t wake up. “Ian? Wake up. Ian!”

Behind him, he heard a voice. “Try this.”

Delos turned and saw the old woman at the bars between their cells. She was holding out a bowl of water; an empty bowl sat on the floor of his and Ian’s cell, but they finished their water hours ago. He knew it was very bad news that she wasn’t drinking, but he still took the bowl with a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” he said, squeezing her arm through the bars. “Thank you.”

Delos tore a strip of fabric from his dirty robes and dunked it into the water bowl. He wrung it out and then pressed it against Ian’s face. But the cold wet cloth didn’t make Ian so much as flinch. He glanced at the old woman and they shared a look; Ian was obviously far more unconscious than he thought. Still, it might not wake Ian up, but Delos knew it would be a good idea to clean Ian up, if for no other reason than to help him stay calm when he finally awoke.

He carefully wiped most of the blood and semen from Ian’s legs (he didn’t touch his genitals, because that would majorly panic his friend after what he had been through, and he didn’t want to make his injuries worse), wringing out the cloth until the water was pink and cloudy. When he was done, Delos carefully put Ian’s clothes back on and laid Ian down on the dusty ground, rolling him onto his side.

And then Delos studied his unconscious friend as the old woman stared at him through the bars, and he wondered if it was possible to hate the evil slave owners even more than he already did.

\---

“I wonder what Ian and Barbara are doing,” Vicki said as she stared out of the window of the Doctor’s room at Nero’s palace. When she got no response from the Doctor, Vicki turned to look at him. Sure enough, the Doctor was engrossed in reading a map spread across the table, his reading glasses perched on his nose. “Doctor?”

“Hmm?” the Doctor murmured, clearly not listening. He didn’t even look up.

Vicki sighed fondly. “Doctor!”

“Yes, my child, that does sound interesting,” he said, still not looking up.

Vicki almost laughed. This happened a lot, but she still found it amusing. “Doctor!”

When she still didn’t get a response, Vicki walked over and tapped the Doctor on the shoulder. He jumped and gave her a disapproving look.

“Yes?” he said, with obvious reluctance.

“I said I wonder what Ian and Barbara are doing,” Vicki said, smiling.

“I’m certain that they’re having a lovely boring time relaxing at the villa,” the Doctor said, sighing. “Just like they wanted.”

“But why do they want to just lounge around?” she asked. “I mean, don’t they get bored just doing nothing?”

“Actually, a lot of people like to spend their holidays relaxing,” the Doctor said, but his tone suggested that he didn’t understand why. “Others, however, find the idea of lying around for hours on end extremely boring.”

“Like us?”

The Doctor nodded. “Like us. Still, I look forward to seeing the looks on their faces when we return and tell them about what we’ve done while they’ve been relaxing in the villa. It will be priceless.”

And Vicki grinned, imagining Ian and Barbara’s faces when she told them about meeting Nero. They wouldn’t believe her. And they’d be so jealous.


	2. Chapter 2

When Ian awoke, he wondered where he was. His head pounded with what felt like a hangover and concussion (they both felt quite similar in his experience), but he couldn’t remember whatever caused his headache. In fact, in the few seconds after he woke up, Ian couldn’t remember anything. He thought he was back at the villa, more confused than anything else to find himself laying on dusty earth when he should have been lying on a couch. But then he felt the horrible stinging pain in his genitals—

And that was when his memories came flooding back, as though a switch had been flicked inside his brain. He remembered him and Barbara being abducted from the villa, being sold into slavery, losing Barbara and making friends with Delos, nearly drowning and ending up here, getting ready to fight to the death as a gladiator. And, despite how much he wanted to repress the memories, to shove them into the back of his mind and never think about it again, Ian remembered being dragged into the bushes and... and one of the sick, disgusting slave owners raping him.

Panic surged inside of him, and he sat bolt upright. Ian gasped for breath, his heart palpitating so fast he could hear his pulse in his ears. He tried to breathe, but his chest tightened like he was being suffocated to death by one of those boa constrictor snakes. Everything was too much, fear and panic and pain all overwhelming him as he sat on the dusty floor of his cell, knowing the man who raped him was walking around outside and had the key to his cell and could cope in here and rape him again and... and...

The memories wouldn’t go away. He could remember it all, and the memories of the slave owner raping him kept playing through his mind again and again like a broken record and it wouldn’t go away. And he felt like he was there again and he didn’t know what to do and he was so scared and...

“Ian?”

Ian opened his eyes, not even realising he’d had then shut. Through his tunnel vision (his vision was going black at the edges from hyperventilating; part of Ian wished he would faint, so his panic would disappear and he would be unaware of how wrong everything was right now), Ian clearly saw his cellmate looking at him. Delos was here. Of course he was; they shared a bloody cell. Where else would he be?

“Calm down, Ian,” Delos said, and his voice felt calmingly familiar. He tried to focus on his friend’s voice and not the horrible memories or the panic consuming him. “You’re safe. He’s gone.”

Ian wanted to punch him for being so stupid, to wave the chains digging into his wrists in Delos’ face, to point out that the rapist of a slave owner was right there in the building outside their cells, to just explain in plain English that nothing was all right about their situation. But he knew that he was being irrational, that Delos was just trying to calm him down – that, of course, right now Ian was alone with Delos in their cell, not in the bushes with...

But he didn’t voice any of this, partly because none of his panicked, rambling thought made sense, but mainly because he was breathing too fast to speak. Instead, he slumped against Delos, letting his friend mumble reassuring phrases and help him control his breathing.

“Breathe in...” Delos said slowly, raising his hands in the air as he inhaled. Ian copied him, forcing himself to take in a deep, slow breath; his chest was so tight from panicking that it actually hurt, but he imitated his friend nevertheless. After holding his breath for about ten seconds, Delos (and Ian, who was still copying him) exhaled slowly, puffing out his cheeks as though he was blowing out candles on a birthday cake. “And out... That’s it, Ian. Breathe in...”

It was strange, Ian realised on reflection, to really think about his breathing. After all, breathing was something automatic, that you do without thinking. So to focus on how and when he breathed was really an excellent way to ground himself as he panicked, focusing on slowing his rapid gasps for air until the panic died down, leaving his chest aching and his whole body trembling with adrenaline. In fact, it was very clever of Delos, a man with no medical training, to have worked out how to do that, to help Ian control his breathing as he hyperventilated. And it worked, because Ian gradually stopped panicking.

“Thank you...” As soon as Ian’s breathing had slowed enough for him to be able to speak again, those were the first words he said. “Thank you.” He kept saying it, whispering hoarsely as he pressed his back against the cold stone wall, his head resting on Delos’ shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he was making sense (his voice might have been too quiet or shaky for Delos to understand what he was saying), but he kept saying it nevertheless. “Thank you...”

Once his panic attack was over, Ian slumped on the floor of their cell, sweaty and exhausted and shaking. He sympathised with anyone who lived with panic attacks on a regular basis, because that was absolutely horrible. And he hoped he would never have to go through something like that again, but, even then, he knew he was being unrealistic. If simply waking up and remembering what had happened to him set off a panic attack like that, Ian didn’t know how he would react to actually seeing...

“What if he comes over here?” Ian said, his voice hoarse and still shaking. Even thinking about it started his heart palpitating again, drumming against his ribs as he shuffled into a sitting position again, grabbing Delos’ arm. “I can’t... I’ll panic like that, but worse. I don’t...”

“We’ll worry about that if it happens,” Delos said. He tried to embrace Ian, but the chains on his wrists meant the movement wasn’t possible. Instead, he put his hands on Ian’s shoulders, and Ian couldn’t read the expression on his face. “He might not come near you again. And I’m here. I can help you if you start panicking. You’ve got me.”

Ian didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to voice the fear that had been bugging him ever since he woke up and remembered all the awful things that happened to him, but he needed to say it. “What if he rapes me again?”

Panic surged through him as he said it, and he wanted to cry but there were no tears in his eyes. He felt so sick, but knew there was nothing in his stomach. So many emotions overwhelmed Ian: fear, anger... shame. The shame was the worst, the horrible thought in the back of his mind that kept wondering why he didn’t fight back (it didn’t matter what Ian told himself, part of his mind kept blaming him for what happened, and it made him feel so sick). But he suppressed them all, and tried to look at Delos with a collected expression on his face, an expression that hid the fact he was completely breaking on the inside. Although he was sure he failed miserably.

He met Delos’ eyes, and he saw no pity in his friend’s eyes (which was good, because he didn’t want pity; he wanted... well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted; all he knew was that he didn’t want pity and was grateful that Delos wasn’t pitying him). Delos looked angry, or was he determined? And then he leaned close to Ian’s ear and whispered so quietly that only Ian heard. “I won’t let him. These chains are very good weapons when you know how to use them.”

And Ian realised what he meant. Delos was prepared to fight and inevitably get himself killed just to protect Ian. Ian didn’t know what to say, how to voice his gratitude towards his friend, a man he had only known for a few days but seemed to know him better than most people Ian had known in his life, a man who was prepared to die to stop that evil bastard raping Ian again. He didn’t know what to say.

So Ian looked down at the chains binding his wrists together, a small row of metal links between the thick metal cuffs strapped to his wrists. And he thought of how they could do some serious damage to someone if you were trying to achieve that. And he forced himself to smile, despite knowing it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” he said, and Delos must have seen the gratitude in Ian’s smile that he couldn’t put into words, because he smiled too.

\---

The slave owner left Ian alone. The relief that the man wasn’t going to rape him again made Ian almost vomit, but the doubt wouldn’t leave him alone. Delos tried to reassure him, telling Ian that the slave owner wouldn’t attack him again, not know all the other slaves knew what the evil man had done. The old woman from the cell next door tried to help too, telling Ian that the slave owners often raped the slaves, but they never raped the same person more than once. He tried to ignore the doubt telling him that they were both lying, but it still bugged him, sending panic shooting through his body without any warning. Still, he tried to put on a brave face, and Delos went along with Ian, pretending with him that everything was all right. And that helped a lot, even though he was just denying that anything was wrong, which wasn’t a healthy thing to do in the slightest.

But then the realisation of why the slave owners never raped people more than once sunk in, and Ian felt overwhelmingly awful and terrified again. It was because their victim was tainted now, and they didn’t want to rape someone who had been tainted and damaged before. And it made Ian feel horrible and weak and dirty, because, despite knowing these disgusting men were going by very old fashioned ideas of value and purity, it made him feel horrible to think that he was tainted now. It made him feel even more ashamed than he had before, because now he felt damaged and tainted and ruined and nothing Delos said helped.

And then of course he still had to see the man who raped him. He may have not dragged Ian into the bushes again, but Ian still felt his eyes on him whenever he walked past their cell. He saw the man looking at him when they took the slaves over to the bushes to urinate (Ian went with the woman, despite how it set his dysphoria off, simply because blending in with the other slaves might keep him safe), or glancing over at Ian and Delos’ cell when he talked with the other slave owners and their guards – and even though he knew he was being paranoid (not that paranoia was wrong when in such a dreadful situation), Ian wondered if he was talking about him.

Delos knew how scared Ian was, so he took to distracting Ian to help stop Ian’s brain replaying the rape in his mind and making him horrendously paranoid that it might happen again. It wasn’t a perfect plan (sometimes memories flashed through Ian’s brain when the slave owner came near him and he panicked before he even knew what was happening), but he was grateful that Delos was trying to help him stay calm.

So they discussed anything and everything, talking about literally anything other than their lives after being abducted and sold into the slave trade. Ian learned about Delos’ family and his life growing up in a quiet village a few miles from Rome. And Ian told Delos about the TARDIS and that he came from 1963. At first, Delos thought he was joking, but Ian told him he was serious. And, just like the amazing friend Delos had proven himself to be, he accepted Ian’s story.

“It’s too farfetched to be a lie,” Delos said, and Ian smiled, as content as he had been since his life went drastically wrong and he got sold into slavery (it had only been a few days, but Ian was already struggling to remember what it was like before, to live in safety and not in near constant terror).

But then the slave owner walked past their cell, and panic surged through Ian’s chest and he descended into a panic attack, hyperventilating as he remembered being pinned down on the dusty ground and – and – and everything was terrifying and wrong again.

\---

Two days after he raped Ian, the slave owner approached Ian and Delos’ cell. It made Ian feel weak and pathetic to admit it, but he shuffled backwards so his back was pressed against the wall of their cell, as though trying to blend into the wall and avoid being noticed. It was a ridiculous idea (after all, he wasn’t a bloody chameleon), but it was all his panic stricken brain could think of right then. Delos put himself between Ian and the door, and Ian knew Delos was thinking about using his chains as a weapon. Ian would have thought of it too, but his brain was too overwhelmed with a barely suppressed panic attack to think of much else.

“You two, come with me,” the slave owner said, and Ian saw his eyes focusing on him, those same eyes that stared into his as...

He bent down and unlocked their chains from the wall, getting close enough to Ian for him to smell the man’s scent, the smell of his sweaty body that he felt like he could still smell whenever he was having a panic attack. It took a lot of restraint to not scream, and Ian was amazed that he managed it.

Ian and Delos stumbled to their feet, leaning against each other for balance as they staggered with dizziness (dehydration was making Ian feel fainter by the day, and he felt far too anxious to eat, so hunger wasn’t helping him escape the near-constant dizziness).

“What for?” Delos said, and the slave owner hit him with the handle of his sword.

Just like before, Delos’s skin split and blood oozed down his face. His other cut was scabbing over, which meant that both sides of his chin were now covered in dry blood and were going to scar. He groaned, clearly wanting to swear but stopping himself in case he got hit again. And Ian wanted to hit the bastard for injuring Delos, but he was still too dizzy and scared to move.

“Don’t you ask questions!” the slave owner snapped, wiping blood off of his sword handle. Ian found out days ago that these men seriously injured their slaves for little more than disobeying them, but Delos didn’t seem to care. He obviously considered it worth it to disrespect the evil bastards, even if that meant being seriously injured afterwards. “Follow me.”

Clinging to each other to stop them both falling over, Ian and Delos followed the slave owner. Ian wanted to run, but he knew they would never make it, not with their ankle cuffs still attached. Delos kept bumping into Ian, and he wondered if his friend had concussion. They were both confused about where the slave owner was taking them, but neither of them dared to ask; Delos because he didn’t want to get hit across the face with a sword again, and Ian because... well, because he didn’t want to anger the slave owner in case...

So despite their curiosity and anxiety, Ian and Delos kept silent. The slave owner led them into a building, and as soon as Ian saw what was in there, he knew exactly what was going on. A guard slammed the door behind them, trapping the two slaves in the huge room with the slave owner and several heavily armed guards. Ian stared around the vast room, taking in the swords and maces and tridents and armour and shields and daggers... and realised that it was his and Delos’ turn to fight in the arena.

Ian wondered if they would let him and Delos choose their weapons, but they didn’t. A guard handed them both a short sword and a small shield, and that was it. They didn’t even get a chance to train; instead, the guards and the slave owner led them straight through the room and out into an open street.

Ian stared at Delos, confused. Neither of them dared to speak, but Ian knew his expression showed his upmost confusion, as though he was actually saying: _Why aren’t they taking us into the arena?_ And then Ian looked around the busy streets and realised that they were right in the centre of Rome. Even amid the all consuming terror (especially his fear about having to fight Delos, because he really didn’t want to have to kill his friend) flooding his brain, he felt a flicker of hope. Because this meant that he might be able to find Barbara.

The slave owner stopped just before the door, so suddenly Ian and Delos almost bumped into him. They were surrounded by guards, but Ian still saw that taunting expression on the man’s face, the expression that said: _Why don’t you try to escape?_

“Before you ask,” the slave owner said, with a lingering look at the still bleeding cut on Delos’ chin. “You two aren’t being taken to fight in the arena. You have a special role. You two shall be fighting in the palace for the Caesar Nero’s personal entertainment.”

Ian wasn’t sure if that was good news. It meant having a smaller audience, but the palace was going to be even more heavily guarded; and he felt his stomach cramp, because it seemed like he was never going to be able to find Barbara. He needed to find her. He couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing his wonderful girlfriend again. He needed her, especially after what had happened to him.

“And you,” the slave owner added, and he pressed the tip of his sword against Ian’s chest, hard enough to hurt but not enough to break the skin. He gave Ian that horrible smile again, and he wanted to vomit as his heart rate doubled and he felt his pulse in the side of his neck. “I know gladiator fighting isn’t a woman’s job, but if you want to dress like a man, you have to act like one too. So go and fight like the man you love to pretend to be, and deal with it.”

Ian wanted to say that he slashed the slave owner’s throat with his sword, or he punched him in the face and he and Delos escaped. Or even that he swore and called the disgusting man all the names he deserved to be called. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood there nearly fainting with fear as his hands trembled and his hear pounded and he nearly threw up as he saw that horrible look in the man’s eyes again. And he had to be steered by Delos as they walked towards the palace, because he was so scared he couldn’t process anything. All he really knew was that he hated the slave owner with all his might. And he really, truly wished that he had killed him. But he didn’t. He didn’t do anything. He was useless.

\---

With much reluctance, Barbara ended up sat next to Nero on a large stage in the palace. She knew he wouldn’t try to sexually harass her in public (not because he felt ashamed to be constantly stalking one of his slaves, but because he didn’t want his wife to see him ~~sexually harassing~~ flirting with Barbara), but she still felt panicked to be beside such an evil, repulsive man. And she wasn’t exactly looking forward to their entertainment; watching a bloody fight to the death was supposedly entertaining to Ancient Romans, but the thought made Barbara want to vomit.

Still, she knew there was nothing she could do about this. Disobeying Nero would get her killed (in fact, if Nero didn’t view his stalking Barbara as a game, she would probably have been executed by now), and she needed to stay alive. The hope of meeting up with the others was the only thing keeping Barbara going, and she knew she needed to keep going. She needed to see them all again.

“Not long now!” Nero said, and he sounded like someone at a concert, waiting for their favourite singer to come out on stage and sing. He looked at Barbara and she forced herself to smile, but she stopped the moment he looked away. How could he be so excited about watching death? Although, given that this man had employed a poison maker specifically for the task of preparing poisons for the various members of his family to kill each other (and liked to stalk and sexually harass his servants for ‘fun’), she supposed that it wasn’t that surprising.

When the gladiators were led into the room, Nero laughed delightedly, and it made Barbara want to slap him. She looked at the two men, carrying swords and shields, and thought about how they must have been slaves, just like her. How could the Romans live with themselves, living their lives in luxury whilst their slaves and the poor suffered through hell like this for the rich peoples’ enjoyment? It was disgusting.

And then she looked at two gladiators properly, and that was when she recognised him.

One of the gladiators was Ian.


	3. Chapter 3

One of the gladiators was Ian. One of the gladiators was Ian! Barbara couldn’t believe it. Ian was alive! He was safe. He was right here.

But her elation at knowing that Ian was alive was immediately shattered by how awful he looked. He looked dreadful, even for a man who was a slave, even compared to the other slave Ian was supposed to be fighting. His face was horribly pale, and he looked weak and shaky and ill... Barbara wondered what was wrong with him. She hoped he wasn’t ill.

It became immediately obvious that Ian and the other slave were friends. Two strangers would have killed each other in seconds, but Ian and the slave kept fighting almost like they were fencing, barely making attempts to disarm each other. They clearly liked each other, and were extremely reluctant to kill each other. And Barbara didn’t blame them, because she wouldn’t want to be put in a situation like this where her opponent was a friend.

She glanced at Nero, still sat beside her. The emperor looked bored at the lack of bloodshed, but Barbara didn’t care. Partly because she knew the hateful man (and everyone else in Ancient Rome) got more than enough bloodshed to watch, but also because she knew he was more interested in the fight than stalking Barbara and attempting to rape her. It was selfish, really, to be almost glad that Ian and the other slave were fighting right in front of her, but she was just so relieved to know that Nero was leaving her alone. And, of course, this way she knew Ian was alive. Although, considering what was going on right now, he might not be alive for much longer.

\---

Tucked down an alleyway in an attempt to conceal themselves from the many guards walking up and down the crowded Roman streets, Ian and Delos stood in silence. Ian couldn’t stop trembling, even though the threat was over. He thought about how Delos had held his sword against the back of Ian’s neck, and how easy it would have been for him to just swing the blade and slice Ian’s head off. He could have killed him, but he didn’t. Even though that meant the pair of them were now on the run, trying to avoid capture but also attempting to find a way back into the palace so they could rescue Barbara. If he had just killed Ian, things would be far less complicated.

“You should have just cut my head off,” he whispered, trying to wipe the dry, sandy earth off of the backs of his legs. Dusty earth reminded him of... of the... of being dragged into the bushes and... well, he didn’t want to be reminded of... of that.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Delos said, and Ian knew he wasn’t joking. “Why would I want to kill you? You’re my friend, Ian. And we need to rescue Barbara.” He patted Ian’s arm, and smiled. “We need to stay alive, or how are we ever going to help her escape?”

Ian knew he was right, but he knew there was a small (or not so small) part of him that wished Delos had just killed him.

“I wish I’d killed him,” he said, attempting to chance the subject. He was being ridiculously vague, but they both knew who ‘him’ was.

“So do I,” Delos said, smiling sadly as he cracked his knuckles. “So do I.”

\---

They escaped.

In her darkest moments, Barbara thought she might be stuck in Nero’s palace forever, not knowing what had happened to Ian and thinking she might never see him and the Doctor and Vicki again. And she was certain that Ian had been experiencing the same thoughts.

But it turned out that they didn’t matter, because they escaped. Ian and his friend Delos didn’t die (in fact, they got away safely and then came back to rescue her), and Barbara managed to get out of the palace before Nero managed to sexually assault her. With help from Tavius (Barbara still wasn’t sure why Tavius wanted to help her, but that didn’t really matter, as long as he helped her escape), they all managed to get out of that awful place, and they didn’t look back.

The three of them ran for what felt like miles, not really knowing where they were going and not caring, as long as they were heading away from Rome. Barbara had a tight grip on Ian’s hand, which was just as well, because Ian kept tripping and stumbling, almost like he was drunk. She wondered just how weak and tired he was. She wondered what had happened to him in the days they had been separated. She wondered if he had been as scared as she was.

Ian was also holding hands with Delos, something neither of them seemed to think was odd. But it wasn’t really important; Barbara assumed they were holding onto each other for support, as Delos looked almost as wobbly as Ian. Which wasn’t surprising, given that he had two scabbing cuts on his chin; he probably had a head injury. And both Ian and Delos had scabbed, bruised patches on their wrists and ankles, and knew they had been shackled for far longer than she had. Just what had happened to the pair of them? What had they been through?

\---

After running for miles, they hoped they were a safe distance from Rome, and finally slowed to a stop. Ian hunched forwards, bracing his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. He felt like he was going to faint, but Barbara kept a tight grip on his arms, stabilising him as he wobbled.

When the three of them had their breath back, Ian looked at Delos. And his stomach churned, because he realised that it was time for them to say goodbye.

“Thank you for everything, Delos,” he said, and he hugged his friend.

Ian never hugged people; he only ever hugged Barbara, but never his friends. But Delos had done so much for him, and he felt like hugging him was the only way he could get across just how much Delos meant to him. After all, Delos kept him company as their endless days as slaves dragged out into an infinite blur, he saved Ian from drowning even though that meant putting his own life in danger, and he supported Ian after the slave owner raped him, helping him through some of the darkest days of his entire life. In a few short days (although they felt like forever), Delos had done more for Ian than most people would do in a lifetime.

And Delos hugged him back, patting Ian’s back. When they pulled apart, Ian thought he saw tears in Delos’ eyes.

“Thank you,” he said again, and he couldn’t stop himself. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Delos smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to come with us?” Ian said, finally stopping himself repeating his ‘thank you’ mantra.

“Thank you for the offer, but I need to try and find my family,” Delos said, and Ian understood, knowing how horrible it felt to be separated from the people you love.

“I hope you find them,” Ian said, feeling a prickling sensation in his eyes as he fought back tears.

“So do I,” Delos said, and he had that determined look on his face again.

Ian didn’t know why, but he felt safe when Delos looked like that; he supposed it was because Delos looked so serious, and, in moments like this, he would do anything to protect the people he cared about. And after what the pair of them had been through, Ian knew that Delos definitely cared about him.

\---

It was Barbara’s turn to hug Delos. She didn’t know the full story of what Delos had done for Ian, but she knew that he had kept Ian company through the hell they both endured. She knew Ian cared deeply about his friend. And if Ian cared about Delos, then that meant that Barbara did too.

“Thank you,” she said, and her voice quivered. “Thanks for looking out for him.”

Delos went a bit red; he was so pale that it was rather bizarre to see him blush. He smiled awkwardly as he said, “Well, that’s what friends do, isn’t it.”

Ian grasped one of Delos’ hands between both of his own, squeezing Delos’ calloused, blood-stained fingers with his equally damaged ones. Barbara watched him stare into Delos’ eyes, and she knew their expressions held what neither of them said. And then Ian let out a shaky sigh, and he let go of Delos’ hands and tucked his hands behind his back. His fingers trembled before he clasped his hand together to stop the tremors.

“Goodbye, Delos,” he said.

Delos smiled. “Goodbye, Ian.”

After giving Delos one last hug, Ian and Barbara waved goodbye to his friend. And they never saw Delos again. Barbara glanced at Ian, and realised that he was fighting back tears. She still didn’t know why the pair of them were so close, but she certainly knew what saying goodbye to someone who means a lot to you felt like. So she slipped her arm around her boyfriend’s waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“It’s all right, you know,” she said softly. “He won’t forget you.”

Ian sniffed and wiped his nose against the back of his hand. “I know. It’s just... I’m going to miss Delos. He... he helped me so much... I’ll never forget him either.”

\---

The moment they arrived back at the villa, Ian raced straight into one of the bathrooms. He needed to wash, he needed to change his clothes – he needed to clean himself up to stop him feeling disgusting and horrible, because he couldn’t walk around in the clothes he was raped whilst wearing any more. Although it seemed redundant, because it wasn’t actually possible, Ian felt slightly like changing and washing was like getting rid of the evidence of what had happened to him. Even though he wasn’t able to forget what had happened, being clean and in different clothes would hopefully mean his brain wouldn’t think about it so often. At least, that was the plan.

He ran himself a bath, still rather impressed by how advanced Roman technology was for its time; although Ian knew that only rich Romans lived like this. And he certainly knew how the Romans managed to build all of this technology, because he had just escaped from their slave trade. It made him feel a bit sick as he ran the bath and then poured boiling water into it, because he knew just what the people who built this house had to live through. But he tried to ignore it as he threw a handful of weird scented petals into the hot water, inhaling the sweet (and rather sickly) steam. It didn’t really work.

Ian stripped off his filthy Roman robes and his blood-stained modern underpants, and threw them all straight into the rubbish bin. He tried to avoid looking at himself as he removed his clothes, hating seeing his naked body; it always made his dysphoria worse, and looking at his cuts and bruises brought back horrible memories of how he got the injuries. Removing his underpants was the worst, because he suddenly remembered that he didn’t have his packer any more, and thinking about how he lost it made him want to be sick. And he knew that blood wasn’t the only bodily fluid stained on his underpants, a thought that he had to push right to the back of his mind, because thinking about it would have made him vomit or scream or possibly both.

His sore skin stung horribly when he eased his aching body into the bath, especially his groin, and the pain made Ian’s eyes fill with tears. He splashed his face with water, attempting to hide the tears even though no one could see.

He slowly bathed himself, scrubbing the dirt and dry blood from his skin and hair with a wet cloth. The cloth came away streaked with red when he washed his genitals, his eyes prickling with tears again. The injuries had been caused days ago, but his genitals still hurt. And then memories of the rape flashed through his mind, playing in his brain like a warped video, and Ian’s breathing hitched as his heart began to palpitate. He grasped the tiled edges of the bath so tightly his knuckles went white, and he attempted to slow his breathing by heaving a deep, shuddering breath – but instead vomited down his abdomen and into the bathwater.

Everything was a bit of a blur as Ian hauled himself out of the now ruined bath, pulling the plug and letting the filthy water run down the drain. He hunched over the sink, his soaking body dripping water all over the floor, spitting vomit into the basin. His chest still tight from panicking, Ian’s hands fumbled as he wiped vomit from his face and abdomen, and he saw his vision start to blur around the edges as he wrapped a towel around his waist. When his knees buckled, Ian simply let himself sink to the floor.

And Ian pressed his back against the cool stone tiles and tucked his knees up to his chest, and bowed his head as, for the first time since everything in his life went horrendously wrong, he let himself sob.

\---

It was rather unnerving to be back in the villa. It looked exactly the same as when they had been abducted, with shards of shattered pottery all over the floor (including the shards of the vase Barbara accidentally hit Ian with; she knew it was a complete accident, that she was trying to hit one of the kidnappers and not him, but she still felt guilty about accidentally knocking her boyfriend unconscious), dusty footprints patterned across the tiled floor, and a very damaged back doorframe. Nothing had changed. It looked just like a crime scene.

Ian had rushed into one of the bathrooms the moment they returned to the villa, so Barbara was alone as she wandered through the villa. Her heart rate was up, and Barbara felt jittery with adrenaline. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She felt far too anxious to just sit and wait for Ian to come back into the room or for the Doctor and Vicki to finally return to the villa, but it wasn’t like she could just sit and watch television or listen to the radio. In the end, Barbara bustled around tidying up the mess, trying to make the villa look less like a crime scene and more like the home it was supposed to be.

Once the villa was tidy again, Barbara went into one of the other bathrooms (this villa was huge, far more spacious than most people would need) and had a bath. She hadn’t washed in days, and it felt wonderful to bathe, sinking into the warm water and inhaling the fragrant steam. Barbara untied her hair and washed it slowly, glad to stop wearing a Roman hairstyle. She really didn’t want to be reminded of her time at the palace any more than necessary.

To be honest, she just wanted to forget about it all, to forget all of the horrible things that happened to her during what was supposed to be a holiday. Which meant she couldn’t wait for the Doctor and Vicki to return so they could all go back to the TARDIS and leave this place.

\---

Once his tears dried up, Ian washed his swollen face, wishing his eyes weren’t so puffy; he didn’t want Barbara to see that he had been crying. His eyes were still rather red and bloodshot, but he just hoped that Barbara wouldn’t notice. Well, he knew that she would notice, so he really just hoped that she wouldn’t mention it.

There weren’t any modern clothes available (all of his normal clothes were back in the TARDIS), so Ian had no choice but to change into a clean set of robes, ones very similar to the long white robes he had been wearing when he and Barbara were abducted. He didn’t want to be reminded of that incident, but he didn’t have any other options. He went to put his packer inside his underpants, but he remembered that his underpants were in the bin and his packer was wherever the slave owners had left it after they humiliated him and...

It made his dysphoria much worse to not have his packer, but, again, Ian didn’t have any choice. He just hoped he would be able to get another one soon.

So Ian sighed shakily, looked at his rather ill-looking reflection in the mirror, and headed out of the bathroom. He went into the main lounge, the room he and Barbara had spent most of their time in before they got abducted. All of the signs of violence had been removed, and Barbara had washed and changed into new robes.

“Feel better now you’ve had a wash?” Barbara asked, smiling.

Ian nodded and sat down on one of the couches. “Yes, thanks. You?”

“Yeah. Much better. So...” Barbara said, sinking onto the other couch. “What happened to you after we got split up?”

And that was when it hit him. Ian couldn’t tell Barbara. He wasn’t sure he could tell anyone. The horrible emotions were back, especially the shame. He clenched his hands into fists to stop them trembling, wishing his heart would stop palpitating.

 

And Ian forced himself to smile as he leaned forwards and pulled Barbara into a hug. Ian tightly cuddled his girlfriend, pressing his chin against the top of her head.

“Sorry,” he said, failing to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m just so glad we’re safe. I thought I might never see you again.”

Barbara sighed shakily. Ian felt dampness on the side of his neck and he realised that Barbara was crying. And the realisation that his girlfriend was crying hurt more than he could possibly explain.

“Ssh, it’s all right, it’s all right,” he whispered in what he hoped was a soothing tone, rubbing her back. “We’re safe now.”

But Ian knew that it wasn’t that simple. They might be out of danger, but their lives were not back to normal, especially Ian’s. As much as he wanted life to return to what it was like before their capture, Ian knew that nothing was going to be the same again. And he hated to think like that, but it was true. It was totally bloody true. Everything was going to be different now. That was the truth. And there was no point lying to himself. It was the truth. Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

\---

Giggling and loud chatter signalled the return of Vicki and the Doctor. The two of them strolled into the villa several hours past nightfall, in the middle of a heated discussion. To Ian’s surprise, the Doctor was the one who was giggling, looking sheepish but also somewhat pleased with himself. Vicki looked exasperated, but she was smiling. Just what had the pair of them done?

It turned out that they had done quite a lot.

“...and you know the thing you always learn in history lessons about Rome burning down and Nero just playing his lyre while it happens?” Vicki said, finally stopping after rambling off a very long run-on sentence.

Ian and Barbara glanced at each other. Ian only knew the basics, but he was sure Barbara, his intelligent history teacher of a girlfriend, knew exactly what Vicki was talking about.

“Yes?” Barbara said, almost like she didn’t want to hear what Vicki was about to say next. When Vicki said the word ‘Nero’, Ian thought he saw Barbara’s eyes widen, but he might have been imagining it.

“Well guess who gave Nero the idea to burn down Rome?” Vicki cried, and she pointed at the Doctor.

Ian stared at the Doctor, almost forgetting his debilitating anxiety as he looked at the Doctor with pure disbelief (emphasis on almost). He opened his mouth to say something, but Barbara beat him to it.

“So what happened to not meddling with history?”she said.

“He said _we_ shouldn’t meddle with history,” Ian said, a bit bitter. “He didn’t say anything about _him_ not doing it.”

The Doctor grinned and patted Ian’s shoulder. “Exactly, Chesterton.”

“So, what did you two do apart from destroy Rome?” Barbara asked.

“We had a great time, didn’t we, Doctor?” Vicki said.

“Yes, and we may have caused some damage in the process,” the Doctor said, massively understating the ‘damage’ they caused. “But at least we haven’t spent the last few days idling about in this villa.”

Yes, Ian thought, it was about time for them to bring that up again. He sighed.

“We haven’t just been idling about!” Barbara cried, but her indignant tone just made the Doctor and Vicki laugh.

“Well, what do you call laying about all day eating grapes?” the Doctor said, failing to stifle his laughter.

Beside him, Vicki giggled helplessly, and, even though he wanted to scream at both Vicki and the Doctor right now for invalidating him and Barbara and their experiences, Ian couldn’t help but notice how much the Doctor and Vicki had bonded. Yes, Vicki took a shine to the Doctor almost instantly, but he could tell the pair were developing a close friendship. It was actually rather endearing to see, and he smiled slightly. But then he remembered the pair were currently ridiculing him and Barbara, and the smile slid from Ian’s face.

“We didn’t just eat grapes!” Barbara said.

“Yeah, you ate apples too!” Vicki cried, giggling. Barbara sighed.

“Come on, Vicki,” the Doctor said, his eyes glinting. “Let’s head back to the TARDIS. We’ll let these lazy bones catch up with us.”

Ian chose to ignore his comment. Barbara raised her eyebrows and sighed, watching Vicki and the Doctor head out of the villa. When they were gone, she turned to Ian.

“Do you think they’ll ever believe us?”

Ian hesitated, not sure what to say. Part of him was glad the Doctor didn’t believe them, because this way he wouldn’t keep bugging Ian until he knew the details of his terrible experiences in the slave trade (and he really, really didn’t want to talk about it). But then part of him hated the Doctor and Vicki right now, because they wouldn’t believe them. He and Barbara had been through terrible things, but they wouldn’t even believe they had left the villa.

Realising that he still didn’t know what to say, Ian simply shrugged his shoulders. Barbara shrugged too, and she smiled. Ian smiled back, but he was sure his smile looked more like a grimace.

She got to her feet, and gestured towards the door with a nod of her head. “Come on. Let’s get to the TARDIS before they leave without us.”

Ian knew it was a joke (because he knew there was no way the Doctor would leave them behind), but he still felt a horrible jolt of fear at Barbara’s words. Because he hated this place so much, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck here forever. And then he realised he must have been pulling a weird face, and smiled weakly as he stood up too.

“Roman souvenir?” Barbara said, picking up a vase. She raised her eyebrows, and her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Ian shook his head. “Nah. I’m sick of Rome.”

“That’s good,” Barbara said, and she put the vase back down. She grasped Ian’s hand and interlocked their fingers. “I’m sick of Rome too.”

Ian smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. And, as they followed after the Doctor and Vicki and headed back to the TARDIS, Ian wondered what Barbara had meant. Why was she so keen to leave this time and place? What had happened to her in the time they had been separated? Ian wanted to ask her so many questions... but then he remembered that he didn’t want to talk about what had happened to him (in fact, he wasn’t sure he even could without descending into a massive panic attack), and he could fully understand if Barbara didn’t want to talk about her experiences either. But he just wanted to know, he needed to know what had happened to Barbara, to know what was wrong and how he could help her now the hell was over...

And then it occurred to Ian that Barbara was probably thinking exactly the same thing.


	4. Chapter 4

Back in the TARDIS, Ian and Barbara changed back into their normal clothes: an odd mix of the 1960s clothes they had been wearing when they first met the Doctor and the various clothes they had picked out of the TARDIS’ wardrobe. It was further proof that they both wanted to leave all traces of their Roman trip behind, because, whilst Vicki and the Doctor stayed in their Roman robes, Ian and Barbara got changed as soon as possible.

Ian had just finished getting dressed (he couldn’t find another packer, so he made do with a rolled up pair of socks down the front of his underpants to pad his trousers out) when he heard Barbara and the Doctor talking. Although judging by the tone and volume of their voices, it sounded like they were actually arguing. Hearing them speaking so loudly made Ian a bit nervous (he had been on edge like this for days, getting anxious over the slightest thing, and it was really starting to annoy him), and he had to hold onto the wall to steady himself when he wobbled. When his heart rate was down and his balance was back, Ian took a deep breath and headed back into the TARDIS console room.

“We weren’t just idling about!” Barbara said, and Ian realised those were the exact same words she said back in the villa. She and the Doctor were obviously arguing about Barbara and Ian’s ‘laziness’ again.

The Doctor’s smile was almost mocking. “Of course you weren’t!”

“No, Doctor, I’m serious!” Barbara cried, and she grabbed the Doctor’s shoulders so he had no choice but to look at her. Vicki stopped giggling in the background, and the Doctor’s smile slid off of his face. “This isn’t a joke! Please let me finish. Please.”

Ian looked between the pair of them, and he felt the tension. His heart began to palpitate, and Ian felt wobbly again. Ian stumbled slightly, leaning his back against the wall. Vicki must have seen him wobble, because she rushed over and grabbed Ian’s arm. He smiled, wordlessly thanking her, and she smiled back.

And then the Doctor patted Barbara’s arm, and his smile was understanding rather than patronising this time as he said, “All right, my dear Barbara. Please explain.”

Barbara glanced over at Ian and Vicki, and seemed to realise that Ian was there for the first time. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Ian said, but he was sure his smile fooled no one.

“Can we sit down first?” Barbara asked, and her eyes lingered on Ian, who was still bracing himself against the wall.

The Doctor followed her gaze, and nodded. “That seems like a good idea. Come on, Chesterton.”

The Doctor beckoned for them to follow, and led his three companions through the TARDIS. Vicki was still holding onto Ian’s arm, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to let go. If for no other reason than he thought he still might fall over if she let go of him. He felt a bit sick, but he hoped the sensation would ease. The Doctor took them into a room Ian had walked past many times but never entered before, and he found himself in a small, cosy room full of comfy sofas and armchairs.

“Any reason why you’ve never showed us this room before, Doctor?” Ian said, trying to make a joke.

The Doctor smiled, but no one laughed. After all, this was in no way a funny situation. Ian and Barbara sat close together on one of the sofas, and the Doctor and Vicki sat opposite them in matching armchairs. Vicki looked rather anxious, and Ian didn’t blame her.

“So, what is it you want to tell us?” the Doctor asked.

Barbara and Ian looked at each other; Barbara must have seen the fear in Ian’s eyes, because she was the one who began to speak.

“Well, the thing is, something bad happened to us,” she said, reaching for Ian’s hand. They interlocked their fingers, and Barbara gave Ian’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “We were... we were relaxing at the villa when these men broke in and... and kidnapped us.”

Vicki gasped, and the Doctor’s eyes widened. Ian wanted to say something, to contribute and help Barbara tell the story of what happened to them, but he didn’t know if he could speak. Even thinking about their abduction was making him feel sick, his heart rate increasing as he broke out in a cold sweat. He pulled his hand out of Barbara’s grip, wiping his sweaty palms on the legs of his trousers.

“They sold us into the slave trade,” Barbara said. “And we were slaves until we escaped and arrived back at the villa a few hours before you two did. And it was absolute hell.” Her voice cracked, and tears began to dribble down her cheeks.

Without thinking, Ian hugged Barbara, rubbing her back as she sobbed. There were tears in his own eyes, but he was determined not to blink, even though it actually hurt. Vicki hugged Barbara too, and even the Doctor reached forwards and patted her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Vicki whispered, and she broke down too. “I had no idea. I thought you were just at the villa. I didn’t mean to... to mock you. I’m sorry.”

Ian blinked rapidly, trying to swallow the painful lump in his throat as his eyes stung. He couldn’t cry. He needed to be strong. If for no other reason than to support poor Barbara.

“I need to apologise too,” the Doctor said, his voice hushed. “I’m so sorry, my dear Barbara – and you too, my dear boy. I thought... well, I had no idea. My words must have caused you much distress. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Ian said, and he had to fight hard to keep his voice from trembling. Although he didn’t really think that it was all right; the Doctor and Vicki may have been joking, but their words hurt. They made Barbara cry, and that alone was enough to make Ian seriously angry. And he was feeling pretty awful himself; Ian had hoped they might have just been able to gloss over his and Barbara’s experiences, but having to talk about it was making him feel dreadful. But he wasn’t going to specify what happened to him after he and Barbara were separated, he just wasn’t; thinking about it was horrible enough (and his brain kept doing that without Ian wanting it to), so talking about it would surely be even worse. And he couldn’t relive it. He just couldn’t. “I understand.” His voice came out flat, and so his words sounded just as hollow as they felt.

Barbara was more convincing. Once she had stopped crying, she pulled a still sobbing Vicki into a hug, and then grasped both of the Doctor’s hands and looked into his eyes. Hers were bloodshot and swollen from crying, and Ian saw sadness in the Doctor’s eyes. “I understand. You didn’t mean to hurt us. But what you said did upset me—”

 _Us_ , Ian thought, his eyes sore from blinking back tears.

“—Because... well, because... it just felt like you both were invalidating what happened to us. Because we weren’t just lounging around... we... we...” Barbara’s voice cracked and she wiped her eyes with the cuffs of her cardigan.

Vicki started sobbing again, and the Doctor put his arm around her. “I know. You both went through horrible things. We know that now. And, if we had at the time, we would have never said such things. I assure you. And I’m so very sorry about what happened to you. Truly and sincerely. I promise.” He took Barbara’s hands in his own, and gave them a squeeze. “I promise, my dear Barbara.”

And then Barbara surprised them all by pulling the Doctor into a hug. Ian had never seen her hug the Doctor before. But, he supposed, there was a first time for everything. “Thank you.”

And she wrapped her arms around Ian’s waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and Ian felt her tears dribble down his face.

\---

“Doctor?”

It was late that night when Ian sidled up to the Doctor, approaching his friend in the console room long after Barbara and Vicki (and himself, because he had been laying awake for hours before getting up) had gone to bed. He felt his face blushing, and he was glad it was quite dark in here, because he didn’t want the Doctor to notice. He didn’t really want to be doing this at all, but he didn’t feel like he had any choice.

The Doctor had been engrossed in a book, and so he jumped slightly when Ian said his name. He frowned, looking at Ian over the top of his glasses. But then his expression mellowed, and he smiled inquisitively.

“Yes, my boy?”

Ian loved that the Doctor called him that. Because he was worried that the Doctor might have misgendered him when they first met (because most people hadn’t been very accepting when they met Ian and found that he was transgender), but he never had to worry about the Doctor being transphobic. In fact, the Doctor was the first person who wasn’t Barbara that Ian thought actually understood him: the Doctor never misgendered him when he found out Ian was trans, and he was the one who gave Ian knowledge of the language to describe gender, and therefore taught Ian the term ‘transgender’. And so Ian wondered if the Doctor called him ‘my boy’ as a subtle way to make Ian feel happy, as gender euphoria was a wonderful thing; and if he was indeed doing that, then Ian was incredibly grateful.

“Um... Doctor, I was... I was wondering if...” Ian stammered over his words, wringing his hands together awkwardly. “I was wondering if... you had another... another packer for me to use.”

After all, the Doctor gave Ian his old packer, the one he had been using until their disastrous trip to Ancient Rome. He had noticed that Ian had been reading about packing in the TARDIS databank, and offered to make him one with the 3D printer in the TARDIS console. Ian, who was just stunned at the time that the Doctor would do such a thing (and that the TARDIS could do so many complicated things; for a machine that once nearly destroyed itself because a spring on the console got stuck, it was a very high-tech gizmo), happily obliged, and the Doctor made him one. It was a very awkward moment when the Doctor handed Ian a very realistic silicone model of a set of genitals, but he was incredibly grateful that the Doctor would do such a thing for him. And then a few days later the Doctor offered to put Ian on testosterone, and the regular injections had been doing wonders to improve Ian’s body image and diminish his gender dysphoria. To put it simply, the Doctor had been absolutely amazing.

Which was why it was strange that Ian felt so awkward to be asking the Doctor about this, because they were both used to discussions about packing and genitas by now. He supposed his near-constant anxiety wasn’t helping; and he didn’t want to have to explain why he needed another packer. He really didn’t want to have to bring those memories back (they were doing that enough themselves in the flashbacks that kept hitting Ian at random moments).

“Well, I don’t have another one on hand, but I can make you another one if you want,” the Doctor said. He took his glasses off and put them back into his breast pocket. “What happened to your old one, hmm?”

“I lost it,” Ian said, blurting his words out.

His eyes a bit too wide, Ian felt his heart race as he stared at the Doctor. He wasn’t sure why (maybe the Doctor didn’t want to pry or maybe he just saw how terrified Ian looked and didn’t want to make him feel worse), but the Doctor’s confused look faded as he looked at Ian’s face, and he smiled instead.

And then he reached forwards and patted Ian’s arm as he said, “Well, then, I can make you a new one.”

Ian sighed, smiling weakly. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“No problem, my boy.”

\---

Happy and relieved that he would be able to replace his packer, Ian actually had a bit of a spring in his step as he wound his way back through the TARDIS. But as he went around corner after corner on his way back to his and Barbara’s bedroom, his bare feet slapping against the floor (Ian hadn’t even bothered to put his dressing gown on when he got up to see the Doctor), the anxiety crept back. Because Ian knew he was just going to spend the rest of the night like he had the past few hours: lying awake staring at the ceiling, too alert and anxious to fall asleep. Not that he really wanted to fall asleep, because he knew the nightmares would start.

Ever since... ever since the slave owner... ever since his trauma back in Ancient Rome, sleep had meant one thing: nightmares. Back in his cell with Delos, every time he tried to fall asleep (if he even could, because anxiety does wonders for keeping you awake), Ian was plunged into horrible nightmares, visions of everything that happened to him appearing in graphic detail, so terrifying and overwhelming and horrific that Ian would wake up soon after, soaked in sweat and choking on sobs. And Delos, awoken by Ian’s cries, would hold Ian in a tight embrace, calming him until the panic ceased and Ian was able to breathe again. And then Ian would spend the rest of the night sat upright, his back against the cold stone wall, his chest tense with anxiety and his mind full of the images of his nightmares, until he finally fell into a light, restless sleep. He hadn’t slept for more than a few hours in days, which explained partly why he was so exhausted. And Ian knew the nightmares would continue now he was back with Barbara, safe inside the TARDIS.

But he didn’t want them to. He didn’t want to be reminded of what had happened. He just wanted to forget about it, for his brain to stop resurfacing memories he so desperately wanted to bury deep in the back of his mind. And he didn’t want to wake up screaming, because that would wake up and terrify Barbara, and he didn’t want to cause her more fear than she was undoubtedly feeling already. And he didn’t then want her to ask what was wrong, because then he would have to explain his nightmares... and he didn’t want to have to talk about it. He didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want to tell anyone.

He was so scared of the nightmares, but he needed to sleep. As much as Ian wished he could just stay awake forever and never have to face the nightmares, he knew that was impossible. So he crept back into the bedroom he shared with Barbara, and slid into bed. His girlfriend was asleep, but she looked restless, her face tense as she moved around in her sleep. He wondered if she was having a nightmare. If her experiences in Rome were anything like Ian’s, she almost definitely was having nightmares. He wanted to wake her up, but decided not to; it would be cruel to wake Barbara up and accidentally make her jump in the process. Instead, Ian lay down beside her and kept his eyes focused on Barbara until the fatigue became too much and his eyes closed.

He had only been asleep for a few minutes when the nightmares started. Just like before, his nightmare was basically a replay of his memories of the slave owner raping him, but even worse, so his voice was louder and his eyes were bigger and it seemed to go on forever. Ian knew he was asleep when he felt no pain, but that didn’t wake him up. And he started screaming, frozen just like in his memory, unable to stop the disgusting man violating him. And he was crying and the slave owners were laughing at his packer and misgendering him and he was being pulled into the bushes... it just dragged into an endless blur of terror.

He wasn’t screaming when he awoke with a jolt, but his throat hurt as though he had been. Ian heaved himself upright, desperately trying to control his breathing, to calm himself down. All he could hear was his heart palpitating in his ears, and waves of panic shot through him and made his stomach cramp and his muscles tremble. Sweat ran down his back, and tears streamed down his face.

He stuffed his hand into his mouth, biting down hard in an attempt to muffle the sobs escaping him. He needed to be quiet. He couldn’t wake up Barbara. She was still asleep, but looked restful this time. He couldn’t disturb her. And he couldn’t let her see him like this.

But he needed to cry, to break down. So Ian eased himself out of bed and hurried into the bathroom. His heart rate was so fast he felt rather dizzy, and he stumbled as he locked the door behind him and slid to the ground. He grasped his head tightly, his fingers digging into his hair, and pressed his forehead against his knees and let himself sob.

Hacking sobs echoed around the bathroom as Ian cried, and he was incredibly grateful that the rooms in the TARDIS were almost completely soundproof. Because he didn’t want anyone to see him like this, so weak, so pitiful... so... broken. His breathes came in jagged gasps, his chest tight and hurting when he forced himself to breath. Hyperventilating made his fingers tingle and his toes go numb, but Ian couldn’t stop. He couldn’t do anything now the panic was overwhelming him. All he could do was sob and gasp for breath and hold himself tightly as though holding onto his trembling body would somehow stop him breaking inside. Judging by how long he sat there, sobbing in a heap on the bathroom floor, it probably didn’t work.

Once the panic attack was over, he used the toilet. Just like last time, the toilet paper he used to wipe himself came away streaked with red. When he realised that his damaged genitals were still bleeding at the slightest touch, Ian wanted to cry again. But he didn’t.

He vomited into the sink.

\---

Barbara slept for hours, but her sleep was fitful. It felt like she woke up every five minutes, before rolling over and falling asleep again. Her whole body ached from all the walking and running and standing up she had done, and her stiff, achy muscles and blistered feet made it very difficult to get comfortable. She probably annoyed Ian with all her tossing and turning, but, judging by how many times he rolled over himself, he wasn’t sleeping well either.

More than once her dreams turned dark. She dreamed about the kidnapping, of being captured as she and Ian screamed and kicked and tried to escape. She dreamed about being chained to the other slaves, and marching and marching as the slave owners threatened to hurt them if they slowed down and her ankle cuffs rubbed against and blistered her skin. She dreamed about her cellmate, the poor ill old woman who coughed and coughed and coughed and crept closer to death with every ragged breath and who was probably dead now. But she mostly dreamed about Nero, of the horrible man chasing her through the palace, his voice taunting and playful as he threatened her, of running and running and always being on edge and trying to hide and the fear of knowing what he would do if he found her...

Once, dream Nero grabbed her arm and Barbara looked at his smile and she started screaming... and she jolted awake, gasping for breath as she stared around the dark room, her heart drumming against her ribs, panic rippling through her like ice cold water running down her back. It was only when Barbara realised that she was here, in her and Ian’s bedroom in the TARDIS, that Barbara began to relax. She was safe; she knew it was just a nightmare.

Her limbs were all tangled in the bed sheets, and Barbara’s hands shook with adrenaline as she shuffled upright and awkwardly got her arms and legs free from the blankets. And then she flopped back down again, her head thumping against her pillow (which was damp with sweat and tears). Tears were still running down her cheeks, and her breathing hitched, turning a sigh into a sob. Barbara didn’t bother to wipe the tears away, and they dribbled across her temples and into her ears, the nightmare still fresh in her mind.

“Barbara?”

She jumped slightly, realising that Ian was awake.

“Ian?’” Barbara whispered, immediately realising how stupid that sounded; after all, who else shared a bed with her and had Ian’s voice.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, and his voice sounded shaky.

“I had a bad dream,” she said, but she knew it was far more than just a bad dream. Ian probably did too.

“Me too,” Ian said. “Would you like a cuddle?”

Barbara shuffled closer towards him. “Please.”

Ian raised his arm, and Barbara snuggled against his chest, her shoulder nudging against his armpit. It wasn’t very comfortable for either of them, but they weren’t sleeping properly anyway.

“Thanks, Ian,” she whispered.

“No problem,” Ian mumbled, and he kissed her sweaty forehead.

She eventually drifted off to sleep with tears drying on her cheeks and her head resting against Ian’s chest, his rapid heartbeat drumming in her ear. In Barbara’s dreams for the rest of the night, drums were pounding, but it sounded like Ian’s heartbeat and she didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast. She wanted to ask him why he was scared, but she couldn’t find him anywhere. And then there were chains around her ankles and she heard Nero’s laugh in the distance.

When she awoke for the twentieth time since she first went to bed, it was light; the TARDIS turned the lights on after a certain amount of time, mimicking day and night on Earth to make sure she and Ian got enough sleep and their sleep cycles didn’t mess up. Which meant it was morning – and Barbara, sick of lying in bed and barely sleeping, decided it was time to get up.

Barbara yawned, rubbing her eyes, and checked the clock. Despite it being ten o’clock, Barbra felt like she hadn’t slept at all. She rolled over, looking for Ian. But her boyfriend was gone. His side of the bed was cold, so he must have got up a while ago.

She was worried about him. Barbara still didn’t know what had happened to Ian in the time the pair had been separated – but judging by how anxious and jumpy he looked, it must have been horrible. She wanted to ask him about it (and also talk about her horrible experiences in Nero’s palace; despite the anxiety thinking about it caused, Barbara felt like she needed to talk about it), but she didn’t know how. She knew he probably didn’t want to talk about it, but she needed to know what had happened, to reassure him and comfort him and try her best to help him cope with whatever memories were now haunting him.

She just wanted to help him.

\---

After breakfast (Ian felt too anxious to eat, and only managed a few mouthfuls of cereal), Ian went to get dressed. Barbara smiled at him as he got up and left the room, but Ian knew she was worried, and saw the dark smudges of fatigue under her bloodshot eyes. When he looked in the mirror, he saw that he didn’t look much better.

His hair, which had stuck to his head with sweat in the night, was stiff and sticking up at bizarre angles. His face was a rather horrible shade of grey, his skin sallow and bruised and dull like it went when he was ill. And, just like Barbara’s, his eyes were bloodshot and had marks as dark as bruises smudged below them.

He leaned closer to the mirror and stared into his own eyes. He sighed slowly – and then he saw the slave owner’s eyes boring into his and a flashback started and fear overwhelmed him all over again.

He just wanted this to stop, for his brain to stop replaying the memories and his body to stop being so anxious and on edge, and for everything to go back to normal. He wished they had never been to Rome. He just wanted his old life back. But, as he sank to the floor and rested his head in his hands, Ian knew that was never going to happen.


	5. Chapter 5

Ian tried so hard to forget about what happened to him, but his brain wouldn’t let him.

He tried to push his memories to the back of his mind, but they forced their way back with a vengeance, causing the most horrible flashbacks just when Ian started to feel just a bit safe or calm. He found himself trying to interact with Barbara or the Doctor or Vicki (because even though he didn’t often feel like talking, he was desperate to keep his relationships going; he didn’t want his friendships and romantic relationship to fall apart just because he was), only for a flashback to invade his brain and set off a horrible panic; and it took a lot of restraint to stay calm and only break down once he was alone and away from the others, collapsing into a sobbing mess on the bathroom floor.

His determination to forget about everything that happened in Ancient Rome meant Ian was starting to turn towards complete denial, and he knew how bad that was. He knew it was bad to never talk about it, to just change the subject if anyone ever brought up what had happened to him and Barbara while they were sold into the slave trade (although Barbara didn’t talk about her experiences either, which just sort of validated the unhelpful thoughts Ian kept having). He knew it was bad to avoid going down to the TARDIS sick bay to find something to help treat his still injured genitals, because he didn’t want to risk the Doctor finding out. He knew it was bad to hate himself for daring to show symptoms of obvious trauma, because reacting to the flashbacks meant admitting that something had happened, but he couldn’t help it. He just wanted to forget, to put everything behind him and to stop falling apart and just have a happy life again.

But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He was messed up and everything was ruined and he hated it. He hated himself, he hated the Doctor for taking them to Rome, he hated everyone he met in Rome and he especially hated the evil man who…

But, most of all, Ian hated himself. And, considering how he was the victim in this, that probably showed better than anything else that there was something seriously wrong.

Part of Ian hoped that the others would notice what was happening to him, just so he wouldn’t have to tell them. But he also didn’t want them to notice. He wanted to hide this from them all. They shouldn’t have to get involved with Ian and his messed up brain and all of his emotional baggage and trauma, especially Barbara. No, he just needed to deal with everything alone.

And Ian hoped that keeping it to himself might make the memories go away faster. Of course, none of it made sense, but Ian didn’t know how to make sense of it. He didn’t know how to make sense of anything. All he knew was that everything was wrong and he hated it.

\---

Days merged into each other, and Ian seemed to lose track of time. Everything just appeared to be a huge blur. Only a few aspects of his life stood out to Ian – having nightmares and getting up in the night were the main ones – and all others just seemed to melt into the blur. He had conversations with the Doctor and cuddled with Barbara and talked to Vicki, but his memories of these events were foggy at best. The only things he could really remember where the nightmares; which was horribly ironic, given how he longed to get rid of them.

He barely slept, the fatigue eating away at his already unstable mind. He was so tired, but he couldn’t sleep; whenever he slept, the nightmares started, and he hated the nightmares most of all. Mainly because they scared him so much and he was worried about waking up Barbara. Although he noticed that Barbara wasn’t sleeping very much either.

Soon, it was a week since they escaped Ancient Rome, but it somehow felt like years had passed and yet only a few hours at the same time. But regardless of how long it was, Ian didn’t feel any better; if anything, he felt worse. He was achy and tired and weak from the lack of sleep and flashbacks and not getting enough to eat or drink, and his brain felt foggy and weird. He was constantly anxious, until his palpitations became the norm and he got used to always being able to hear his heartbeat in his ears.

And the fact that he was getting worse scared Ian for two reasons: the first was wondering how much worse he could even get; and the second was the fact that he knew he might be feeling this dreadful for the rest of his life. Was he always going to be this anxious and paranoid and sleep deprived?

Was he ever going to get his life back?

Or would this go on for the rest of his life? Because if it was going to, Ian didn’t know how long he could last. Would he end up committing suicide? The thought of killing himself was terrifying, but Ian knew he would probably think differently after living like this for much longer.

\---

One night, Barbara awoke from yet another nightmare, her heart pounding as she jolted into consciousness. Once she had grounded herself (making certain that she knew where she was, and that it had only been a dream), Barbara scrubbed tears from her face and laid back down, hoping she hadn’t screamed when she awoke. Tears continued to leak from her eyes, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away.

Barbara turned her head, and found Ian’s space empty again. He often got up in the night now, obviously because sleeping was often impossible (and, even if it was possible, the nightmares made sleep a horrible experience; and Barbara assumed Ian had the same problem. So rather than just rolling over and hoping she might fall asleep again, Barbara decided to locate Ian and spend some time with her boyfriend.

It felt odd to wander around the TARDIS in the middle of the night, and Barbara wrapped her dressing gown tighter around herself, slightly nervous. It was ridiculous to be anxious walking through the TARDIS (which was currently, and for the foreseeable future, her home), but Barbara couldn’t help the paranoid that began to creep through her. She knew it was all to do with Rome, of how the empty TARDIS corridors reminded her of Nero’s palace, but understanding the basis of her fear didn’t make it vanish. If anything, focusing on it made her feel worse. So Barbara didn’t feel ashamed as she quickened her pace and reassured herself that her anxiety was probably due to the fact that she didn’t really trust the TARDIS (she still hadn’t forgiven the TARDIS for scaring her, Susan, Ian and the Doctor silly that time it kept malfunctioning; the machine was only trying to tell them something, but still...).

A rather anxious Barbara eventually found Ian in the Doctor’s previously-hidden living room. Sat on one of the sofas, Ian was hunched awkwardly as he leaned against the arm of the sofa, his feet tucked up beneath him. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were wide open – too wide open. He jumped when Barbara opened the door, but he smiled when he saw it was her.

“Hello, Barbara,” he said.

Barbara walked across the room and sat beside him. “Hello, Ian. Can’t sleep again?”

“However did you guess?” Ian said, chuckling weakly. “You?”

Barbara nodded. “Yeah. I had a nightmare. When I saw you weren’t in bed, I wondered where you’d gone. I thought we might as well spend our sleepless nights together.”

Ian put his arm around her, and Barbara shuffled closer. She rested her head against Ian’s chest, and she heard his rapid heartbeat again.

“Your heart’s beating very fast, Ian,” she said.

“It’s always like that these days,” Ian said, and Barbara knew ‘these days’ meant ever since they returned from Ancient Rome. “I’m anxious.”

It took Barbara’s sleep-deprived brain a few seconds to process Ian’s words. And then she realised what his words implied: if Ian’s heart always beat that fast, and it beat like that because he was anxious... than that meant Ian was always anxious. If that was true, then there was something seriously wrong, even worse than she previously thought. She wanted to say something, but she stopped herself when she looked at Ian’s face. He already looked so tense... she didn’t want to upset him.

Instead, she just sighed. Ian sighed too.

“Do you have lots of nightmares?” Ian asked.

“A few,” she said. “A least once a night. They wake me up and then I can’t get back to sleep for ages. Is that what they’re like for you?”

Barbara felt Ian flinch.

“I mean, you have nightmares as well, don’t you?” she said, knowing she was making a stupid decision asking that question.

“Yes, I do,” Ian said, his voice so tense and awkward that Barbara knew he was begging her to drop it. She knew she needed to do just that, to leave Ian and stop bugging him, and yet…

“And… do you have lots of—”

“Please, Barbara,” he said, cutting her off. When Barbara looked at Ian, she saw his eyes brimming with tears. “I... I can’t talk about it. Please.”

Ian sighed shakily, and hugged Barbara tighter. He looked so close to breaking, and Barbara longed to ask him what had happed, to find out why he was so much worse than her, to know what her boyfriend had been through. But she also couldn’t bear to see him cry. So she didn’t ask him. She wanted to, but she didn’t.

But, as she hugged him back, Barbara began to wonder if she should explain why she was having nightmares. Despite what she thought and Ian obviously also believed, talking about her nightmares would surely help. So, even though it made her anxious and her eyes sting with tears, Barbara said, “Can I talk about mine?”

“Of course you can,” Ian said, his voice wavering.

“Well… they’re about Rome,” she said, which was bloody obvious when she thought about it. Everything wrong with her life right now was because of their trip to Ancient Rome. “I keep having horrible dreams about when they… when they kidnapped us. And then about being in shackles and being marched by those horrible slave traders and… And about…”

Barbara trailed off, about to mention Nero. But she couldn’t bring herself to say his name. She didn’t want to talk about that man and the terror she felt whilst living in his palace, constantly trying to escape him. Those were her worst memories, and her worst nightmares too. She just couldn’t bring herself to talk about it.

She expected Ian to press for her to finish her sentence, but he didn’t. He just kept hugging her, his arms strong and secure and safe as Barbara leaned against him, so glad that she had him back. During the worst days in Rome, she genuinely thought she would never see him again.

Barbara felt something drip onto her head, and it took her a while to realise it was a tear. Ian was crying. She pulled away sharply and watched Ian hurriedly wipe his eyes on his sleeve. He looked so embarrassed.

“Are you crying?”

Ian shook his head violently. “No, no, I’m not crying.”

Barbara sighed and held his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ian said, sniffing. He forced himself to smile, but his eyes were shining with unshod tears and his face looked horribly tense. “I just hate the thought of you having all of those nightmares.”

“You don’t have to get upset, Ian.”

“I’m not upset,” Ian said a bit too aggressively. He sighed and squeezed Barbara’s hand. “I’m not upset,” he whispered, his voice wobbling.

Barbara sighed too, knowing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. “All right. You’re not upset. You know, Ian, the nightmares are horrible, but I feel safer when I can cuddle you.”

Ian mumbled something that sounded like, “So do I.” But then he raised his voice and said, “Would you like a cuddle, then?”

Barbara smiled sadly. “Yes please.”

Once again, Barbara found herself cuddling Ian, snuggling against her boyfriend who was clearly crying but not admitting it. She pressed her ear to his chest, and heard his rapid heartbeat again.

“Night, Barbara,” Ian said, even though it was more like early morning by now.

Barbara yawned. “Night.”

Eventually, Barbara fell asleep in Ian’s arms, her head resting against his chest.

\---

The lack of sleep was starting to get to Barbara. She was feeling increasingly more snappy and irritable, and kept snapping at the others when they hadn’t actually done anything wrong. She was so tired her eyes hurt all the time, and she couldn’t stop yawning. To massively oversimplify her problem, she felt absolutely awful.

One afternoon, Barbara went into the kitchen to find the refrigerator malfunctioning. She swore at the blasted thing for going on the blink, and the situation got even worse when the Doctor intervened. He kept asking her questions about the fridge, about when she thought it broke and what was wrong and what part might be broken, and Barbara just felt so wound up she wanted to scream. Eventually, she snapped.

“I don’t know!” she cried, and her voice cracked. Irrational anger shot through her, and Barbara broke down sobbing.

“Barbara,” the Doctor said, sounding shocked and uncertain. “Whatever’s wrong?”

But she was crying too hard to say anything remotely understandable. All she knew was that she was tired and irritable and it felt surprisingly good to just break down sobbing.

“Barbara?”

As the Doctor watched her sob, he seemed to understand what was going on. Which obviously explained the oddly compassionate expression on his face as he put his hand on her arm and said, “Come with me.”

He led Barbara through the TARDIS until they reached the sitting room. At which point the Doctor made Barbara sit down and then sat opposite her. He clasped his hands together and leaned forwards in his seat, looking at Barbara like a bizarre hybrid of a therapist and a best friend.

“Now,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just so tired,” Barbara said, well aware how pathetic and whining her voice sounded. “I haven’t slept properly in days and days and I just feel so exhausted.”

The Doctor dug into his pocket and handed Barbara a tissue. She took it and wiped her sore eyes, wishing she could stop crying.

“Thanks.”

“You’re sleep deprived,” the Doctor said, handing Barbara another tissue. “Chronically. I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to break down. There, there,” he added somewhat awkwardly, patting Barbara’s arm.

Barbara tried to calm herself down, and eventually her sobs stopped, leaving her with very sore eyes and an aching throat.

“Would you like something to help improve your sleep?” the Doctor asked.

Barbara nodded. “I’ll take anything at this point, Doctor.”

“I can give you some tablets to help you sleep,” he said. “They are a type of antihistamine, but the drowsiness side effect makes them useful sleep aids. Vicki takes them sometimes when she struggles to sleep. I think they’ll do the job.”

Barbara smiled and pulled the Doctor into a hug. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“That’s not really necessary,” the Doctor said. “But you’re welcome.”

\---

Days continued to pass, and Ian started to feel even worse. He felt horribly nauseous most of the time, and he kept getting weird aching pains in his abdomen. He also felt even more tired than before, despite taking some of the tablets the Doctor have given to Barbara and finding his sleep improving a fair amount. Not only was his brain failing him, but now his body seemed to be too.

He managed to hide most of his physical symptoms too, at least until one afternoon three days after the nausea started, when he had to rush out of the room as a sudden urge to vomit overwhelmed him. He dashed into the bathroom and vomited into the toilet, hunching over the toilet bowl as he heaved. Which was when the Doctor walked through the still-open door, and stared straight at him.

“Chesterton?” he said. “Are you ill?”

“No, I’m fine,” Ian said, before throwing up again. “Please go away, Doctor.”

Thankfully, the Doctor left Ian to vomit in private. Once he was finished, he rinsed his mouth out and splashed his greasy face with cold water. His mouth tasted disgusting, and it was almost enough to make him vomit again. Ian sighed shakily and left the bathroom – and walked straight into the Doctor, who was standing outside the door.

“Doctor!” he said, sighing. “Do you mind?”

“You’re ill, Chesterton,” the Doctor said, giving him that annoying inquisitive look of his. “You look dreadful and you keep vomiting. I insist you let me find out what you have to make sure it isn’t contagious; I don’t want you making Barbara and Vicki ill too.”

Ian sighed again. “Doctor, I’m not ill, not like that.”

“But how do you know, hmm?” the Doctor said, giving Ian’s arm a prod. “How do you know?”

Ian wanted to say something like ‘It’s probably just related to my severe anxiety’, but he couldn’t say that without explaining his anxiety to the Doctor. and he really didn’t want to do that.

The Doctor took his silence as an answer. “Exactly. Please come to the sick bay with me, my boy.”

“No, Doctor,” Ian said, walking away.

But the Doctor followed after him. “I insist. You’re not well.”

“Go away.”

“No.”

“Doctor!”

“Ian!” the Doctor said, expertly mimicking Ian’s tone. “Seriously, I need you to come with me.”

After quite a lot more arguing, Ian found himself sat on a bed in the TARDIS sick bay. He really didn’t want to be here, but he knew the Doctor wouldn’t leave the topic alone now he knew about it. And he had already had enough of bickering with the Doctor. That man really didn’t know when to shut up.

The Doctor was currently rummaging through a cupboard. He looked at Ian over his shoulder and said, “Thank you, Chesterton. I promise this won’t take long.”

Ian raised his eyebrows and made and stuck his middle finger up at the Doctor when he turned around again. The Doctor picked up an object about the shape and size of a tube of lipstick, and turned to Ian.

“Hold out your hand, please,” he said.

Ian flinched backwards, tucking his hands behind his back. “W-Why? What are you going to do?”

“I just need to take a blood sample,” the Doctor explained, in a tone which made him sound a lot like an actual doctor. “If I put a blood sample into the scanner here, it can do an analysis of your blood and find out what might be causing your symptoms.”

The Doctor seemed to know what he was talking about, and Ian relaxed slightly. “For someone who’s not that kind of doctor, you’re quite good at this.”

The Doctor smiled. “Good at what?”

“Being a medic,” Ian said, and he smiled too. “You can be quite caring when you put your mind to it.”

“Well don’t get used to it, Chesterfield,” the Doctor said, and Ian raised his eyebrows. “Hold out your hand, please.”

This time, Ian complied. He held out his arm, there was a sharp jolt of pain and blood oozed out of a tiny cut on the tip of his thumb. The Doctor squeezed a droplet of his blood into a vial, and Ian was oddly mesmerised as the droplet dispersed in the clear liquid, slowly turning the liquid pink. And then he screwed the lid on the vial and inserted the sample into the scanner.

“We should get the results in a few hours,” the Doctor said. “And then, once we have discovered the cause of your symptoms, we might be able to help you feel better. I’ll come and tell you when I get the results.” He smiled. “Is that all right?”

Ian smiled weakly. “Yes, Doctor.” As much as the Doctor had annoyed him in the last fifteen minutes or so, Ian had to add, “Thank you.”

\---

Ian and Barbara were getting ready for bed that evening when there was a knock on their bedroom door. Ian finished unbuttoning his shirt, and then opened the door, his shirt hanging open like a jacket with his vest visible underneath. The Doctor was stood in the doorway.

“Hello, Doctor,” he said, smiling at his friend.

“Hello, Ian,” the Doctor said, smiling what appeared to be a forced smile. He looked past Ian and smiled at Barbara. “Hello, Barbara.”

“Hello,” Barbara called, managing to be the only person in the room who sounded sincere.

“Can I come in?” the Doctor asked.

“Of course,” Ian said, stepping to the side to let the Doctor into the room. “Come in, Doctor.”

Ian sat down on the bed, beside Barbara. He pulled his pyjama top on over his head, and was bending forwards to pull his socks off when the Doctor cleared his throat.

“The TARDIS has completed the evaluation of your blood sample, Ian,” the Doctor said. He never called him Ian.

Ian looked up. The Doctor’s face was incredibly serious, his reading glasses perched on his nose and magnifying his eyes. Ian glanced at Barbara and she squeezed his hand, fear visible in her eyes.

“And?” Ian said, dropping his sock on the floor.

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Barbara asked, her voice a bit too urgent, too demanding. But Ian understood; despite his fears about what might be wrong with him, he was desperate to find out. “Doctor?”

The Doctor adjusted his glasses, clearing his throat with an awkward cough. “Would you prefer me to tell you on your own?”

“I don’t really care, Doctor, just tell me!” Ian snapped, immediately regretting how sharp his words sounded. He sighed, and added, weakly, “Please. Please, I just want to know.”

“Well,” the Doctor looked back down at the paper in his hands, and his fingers were trembling. And then he looked straight into Ian’s eyes and said, “The thing is, my boy... You’re pregnant.”


	6. Chapter 6

The words hit Ian like a punch to the stomach. He felt a bit dizzy, his stomach churning as his heart began to race. For a few seconds he just stared at the Doctor, but then his mouth started working again.

“What?” he said, and his voice was oddly flat considering how terrified he was.

“I said you’re pregnant, Chesterton,” the Doctor said taking his glasses off.

“But how’s that...” Barbara trailed off, looking stunned.

“According to my results, you have been pregnant for approximately two weeks...”

The Doctor said something else, but Ian didn’t hear it. Because all of a sudden there was a ringing sound in his ears, and he was breathing so fast he could feel his heart pounding in his neck, and he was panicking so badly that he seemed to close off from the outside world. All he could process was the Doctor saying, _“You’re pregnant.”_

Barbara put her hand on his arm, but Ian flinched away. He needed to get out of here.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

“Ian?” she said, and she seemed so far away.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

Ian stumbled to his feet, and his legs wobbled. He swayed on the spot, breathing so fast he was starting to feel horribly dizzy.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

His chest was so tight; he could barely breathe, only making his frantic hyperventilation even worse.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

“Chesterton?” the Doctor said, and everything was sounding really fuzzy.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

His ears rang as his heart pounded against his ribs, and Ian wondered if it was possible for your heart to burst out of your chest. Of course it wasn’t. But he couldn’t think properly. All he could think of was the Doctor’s words, the words that filled him with such terror and dread.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

Ian could barely stand up, but he pushed past the Doctor and ran out of the room. He heard them both call his name, but their voices were drowned out by the sound of his palpitating heart.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

His movements were sluggish, like he was moving underwater. In fact, given how hard it was to breathe, he might as well have been trying to breathe underwater too.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

Memories flashed through his mind, memories of being held down and…

_“You’re pregnant.”_

He was pregnant. That bastard got him pregnant. He was pregnant with his…

_“You’re pregnant.”_

Ian felt so sick, but he hadn’t eaten in hours.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

The memories bombarded him, until all he could see was the flashback and all he could hear was his heartbeat and the Doctor’s words.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

Ian ran into a bathroom and slammed the door behind him. His fingers fumbled with the lock, but he couldn’t let anyone walk in on him. Not when he was completely and totally breaking down.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

He sank to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest. He didn’t fight it when tears ran down his face. He felt them dribble down his cheeks and drip off of his chin, his face trembling and his shoulders heaving as he sobbed.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

He punched himself in the stomach. It hurt so much, but he didn’t care. Would doing that get rid of it?

_“You’re pregnant.”_

He was on testosterone. How could he be pregnant when he was on testosterone? Why had this happened?

_“You’re pregnant.”_

He couldn’t deal with this. It was too much. Everything hurt so much.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

He vomited into the toilet. Stomach acid burned his tongue.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

He curled up in a ball on the floor, his face slicked with tears and snot. His sobs were loud and hacking, but he didn’t care. And he didn’t know how to stop.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

He hated everything so much. He was so scared.

_“You’re pregnant.”_

He wished he was dead.

\---

“Ian!” Barbara yelled as her boyfriend ran out of the room, looking so dazed and scared and wobbly.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. How was Ian pregnant? Why had he reacted like that? What was going on?

She jumped to her feet and made to race after him, to find him and help him through whatever was going on, because she was certain this all had to do with Rome. Everything went wrong in Rome.

But the Doctor grasped her shoulders to stop her running past him. Barbara struggled against him, but the Doctor was surprisingly strong.

“Let him go, Barbara,” he said, and she could see that the Doctor was struggling, his lip twitching like he was close to breaking down.

“But—”

But Ian looked so upset and scared. She cared about him. She needed to see what was wrong. She needed to help him. Her boyfriend was so scared and panicky and upset and it hurt her so much to see him like that. She couldn’t bear to see him suffer.

“We need to let him go,” the Doctor said, and he gave Barbara what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile.

“But he’s upset,” Barbara said, and she felt tears in her eyes.

“I know, my dear Barbara, I know. But he obviously ran off because he wants to be alone. We should respect that. We can find him later when he’s calmed down a bit and then talk to him. Do you understand, hmm?”

Barbara forced herself to nod. “I understand.”

Forcing herself to calm down, Barbara took deep slow breathes and wiped her eyes before her tears could spill over. Her heart was racing, but she tried not to focus on it. She needed to calm down. She needed to stay calm and rational. That was the only way she could help Ian.

Barbara groaned and let out a spluttering sigh, before sinking back onto the bed. The Doctor hesitated for a few seconds, but then sat down beside her.

“What is going on, Doctor?” she said.

“I’m honestly not sure, my dear,” the Doctor said. “Everything has been so strange and confusing recently.”

She knew exactly what he meant. “How can he be pregnant?”                                                 

“He has a uterus, Barbara. People who have uteruses can get pregnant.”

“I know that,” she said, and she had to really force herself not to snap at him. “He’s never had a hysterectomy so he’s obviously still got his uterus. But that’s—”

“So you knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That Ian is transgender?” the Doctor said.

“Of course I knew,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Doctor, we’re in a relationship. Of course I know that Ian’s trans.”

The Doctor’s sombre expression turned slightly defensive. “I was just making sure. I wasn’t to know that your relationship is sexual.”

“It isn’t! Not yet, anyway. We’ve just seen each other naked,” Barbara said, wondering how on Earth she was discussing her private life with the Doctor of all people. But the Doctor looked offended and confused, so she sighed and tried her best to smile. “But I understand. And, yes, I know that Ian is trans.”

“But that’s not the point. I mean, I know his body can technically get pregnant, but… I can’t get him pregnant, Doctor,” Barbara said, feeling her heart start to race. And then she grabbed the Doctor’s arm, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or punch someone right then. “Has he slept with someone else? Has he...” she trailed off, not wanting to say the words. She felt a bit sick.

“Has he had an affair?” the Doctor said, and he grasped Barbara’s hand between both of his. When she looked at his eyes, she realised that she had never seen the Doctor look like this before. He didn’t look sad, or angry... he just looked like he was in pain. “My dear Barbara... I don’t quite know how to say this, but... given Ian’s reaction, I don’t think he has had sex with anyone.”

It took a few seconds for the Doctor’s words to sink in, and then Barbara really did want to vomit.

“You mean...? Jesus Christ!” Barbara tightened her grip on the Doctor’s hands, her palms drenched in sweat. “Do you mean Ian was _raped_?”

Her eyes filled with tears, blurring her vision. When she blinked, they dribbled down her face and her vision cleared again. The Doctor looked almost ill, his face tense and pale, his eyes full of such pain.

“I think so,” he said.

Immediately, she thought of Nero. Being sexually harassed and stalked with the threat of rape was horrifying enough, so what must have Ian been through. Ian was raped. Someone raped him. That was how he was pregnant.

“I can’t…” she trailed off, not knowing what she was trying to say. She just felt so dazed. Dazed and horrified.

“Barbara?” the Doctor said.

“Sorry, I just…” Barbara mumbled, and she stumbled to her feet.

And it was Barbara’s turn to rush out of the room. She just needed to be alone. She didn’t want the Doctor to see her like this. Barbara made it out of the room and halfway down the corridor before she burst out sobbing.

\---

Vicki wandered through the TARDIS, wondering where everyone had gone. Of course, it was basically her bedtime, but the others were usually still up and about at this time. She hadn’t seen Ian and Barbara all day, and the Doctor vanished about an hour ago. To be honest, she hadn’t seen a lot of Ian and Barbara ever since they all left Rome.

She turned a corner and walked down the corridor which housed Ian and Barbara’s bedroom. Which was when she heard the footsteps. And then Barbara went running straight past her, sobbing unlike Vicki had ever seen her sob, her face contorted into an agonised expression as she covered her mouth to muffle her cries.

“Barbara?” she said, but Barbara didn’t reply. Given how hard she was sobbing, she probably didn’t hear her.

And then Vicki turned around to see the Doctor stood by the door to Ian and Barbara’s bedroom. He looked ill and tired and almost scared... and Vicki suddenly felt horribly panicky, because something awful must have happened.

“Doctor!” she cried, rushing over to him. “What wrong? What’s happening?”

“It’s... not for me to say, my child,” the Doctor said, and his voice was weak and hollow. “Suffice it to say... Ian has just found out some unsettling medical news... and Barbara has just found out about Ian’s unsettling medical news.”

Vicki tried not to think about what might be wrong. But she was sure this all had to do with Rome. Something horrible obviously happened to Ian during their Roman holiday, and she was certain this was related to this piece of ‘news’. She just hoped it wasn’t something serious... but to get a reaction like that from Barbara (who was usually so calm and level headed and strong), wouldn’t it have to be?

It made her feel pathetic, but Vicki’s eyes filled with tears. Even though this wasn’t about her, she felt so worried for her friends, and she didn’t know what to do. And judging by how the Doctor was just standing there, neither did he.

“I’m scared,” she said, scrubbing at her eyes before the tears could spill over. Her vision was blurry with tears, but she saw the agony in the Doctor’s eyes. To see him looking so worried – so helpless – made Vicki cry harder. “Doctor, I’m scared.”

The Doctor hugged her, resting his chin on the top of her head. She cried into his chest, feeling the Doctor’s arms encircling her as her body shook with sobs. “I know, my child. I’m scared too.”

“Wh-What’s going to happen to Ian?” she sobbed, her cries catching in her throat. She pressed her head against his chest, and Vicki felt the calming drum of the Doctor’s hearts.

“I’m not sure,” the Doctor said, and his voice sounded thicker. “But we shall help him, and Barbara too. I promise, Vicki.”

The Doctor broke the hug, and put his hands on Vicki’s shoulders. And he looked right into Vicki’s eyes, and said in the kindest tone she had ever heard him use, “I promise you that. Now, how about you stop that crying, hmm?”

Vicki smiled weakly and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. The Doctor shook his head slightly. “I’ll get you a tissue.”

\---

After what felt like hours and may very well have been hours, Ian seemed to come back to his senses. The hideous overwhelming panic had ceased, the flashbacks and stopped and his tears had dried up. But he still felt dreadful, his throat sore from sobbing hand vomiting, his whole body trembling with fatigue and adrenaline, and the anxiety was still there, dull yet insistent inside his chest, leaving his heart rate too fast and his mind too alert.

He put his hands on his lower abdomen, his skin bruised from where he punched himself. He carefully prodded his stomach, nauseous again when he thought about the embryo inside of him. It filled him with such repulsion and disgust to think that it was inside his uterus – especially because half of it had his DNA, and the thought of having something of that bastard’s growing inside him almost gave him a panic attack again.

He couldn’t keep it. What was he going to do?

There was a knock on the door.

“Ian?” Vicki called through the door. “Are you all right?”

Of course, Vicki didn’t know. Unlike Ian and Barbara and the Doctor, Vicki was thankfully unaware of the hell that was now his life. And he didn’t want to tell her. Vicki was so young… she couldn’t know about this.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, hating how hoarse and weak his voice sounded.

“Are you sure?” Vicki said. She probably knew something was wrong.

Ian sighed and hauled himself to his feet. His legs wobbled and his head swam, and he had to grab hold of the sink to keep himself upright. Once again, he was faced by a shockingly pale and ill reflection, but this time Ian didn’t care. He already felt like death, so he might as well look like it too.

So he simply washed his hands, rinsed his mouth out with mouthwash and straightened his clothes, before opening the door and looking at Vicki. She looked horribly worried, and her red eyes told Ian that she had been crying. Yes, she definitely knew that something was wrong.

“Have you been crying?” she said.

Knowing lying would be futile, Ian nodded. “Have you?”

Vicki ducked her head. “Yes, I have. I saw Barbara crying and the Doctor was worried and he said you’d had bad medical news and I’m really worried about you?”

“You don’t need to worry,” Ian said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Did… did the Doctor say anything else?”

Vicki shook her head, still not making eye contact. “No. he said it wasn’t his place to tell me. He just said you had ‘unsettling medical news’.”

Relief flooded through him. Vicki didn’t know. Which was good, because he never wanted to explain to her how he became pregnant.

“Well, he was right,” Ian said. “But I’ll be all right.”

Vicki’s eyes shone with tears. “Really?”

Ian forced himself to smile, honestly not knowing if his own words were true. “Yes.”

\---

Ian found Barbara in their bedroom, the room where only a couple of hours ago everything went totally wrong. She was sat on the bed with her legs crossed, her head bowed. Just like Ian and Vicki, her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

“Barbara?”

She looked up at him, her eyes widening. “Ian? Are you…?”

Barbara trailed off, obviously not knowing what to say. Ian didn’t either; this was all so confusing and awkward and weird. So instead of saying anything, Ian just sighed. Barbara sighed too, shakily, as she stared at Ian with shining eyes.

“Ian… were you raped?” she whispered, and Ian felt like he was going to fall apart all over again.

He sat down beside Barbara and hugged her tightly. He didn’t want to talk about it – he never wanted to even think about it, let alone talk about it with his girlfriend – but Ian knew he didn’t have a choice. Not anymore.

Ian nodded, and Barbara’s face crumpled.

“Please don’t cry,” Ian said, rubbing her back.

“Sorry,” Barbara mumbled, her voice cracking. “I just… can’t believe you’ve been through… I’m so sorry, Ian.”

Ian felt his eyes stinging. “It’s not your fault. I just don’t know what to do.”

Barbara smiled weakly and pressed a kiss to Ian’s sweaty forehead. “Should we go and talk to the Doctor?”

Ian sighed. He didn’t want to talk about this ever again, but he knew they needed to do something. He couldn’t carry this pregnancy to term. And the only one who could help him with that was the Doctor.

“Yes, let’s talk to the Doctor.”

\---

Despite it being the middle of the night by their standards, Ian looked as wide awake as Ian felt. They sat side by side on one of the beds in the TARDIS sick bay, watching the Doctor look through the notes he had received after taking Ian’s blood sample.

“So, Chesterton,” the Doctor said, looking at Ian over the top of his glasses. “Do you know how you want to deal with this… situation?”

Barbara looked at Ian, and saw the apprehension on his face. He shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I don’t bloody know.”

“Well,” the Doctor started scrolling through a page on a data screen, and Barbara had a feeling that it was about pregnancy. “Would… do you want to carry the pregnancy to term?”

Ian flinched, his whole body jolting. Barbara patted his hand, and she felt his fingers trembling.

“No!” he cried, and then let out a shuddering sigh. “No… I can’t do that.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know, Doctor!” Ian snapped, jumping to his feet. He paced around the room, wringing his hands together. He looked so scared, and Barbara just wanted to hug him. “I can’t keep it. I can’t. I just... can’t...”

Ian kept muttering the same words again and again, and Barbara doubted he even knew what he was doing. He just looked so spaced out – but she could see the agony barely hidden by his blank facial expression.

“I can’t do it… I think I want an abortion. And I know it’s illegal and—”

“ _Was_ illegal, my boy,” the Doctor said. “In 1963 on Earth, yes, abortion was illegal. But it became legal four years later. And, anyway, this isn’t Earth. This is my TARDIS. And if there’s one thing my home planet is good for it is reproductive rights. So that isn’t a problem at all. It’s perfectly legal.”

“Well, I know lots of people think it’s wrong and evil, but I can’t have this... this thing inside me. I just can’t. And if you don’t let me have an abortion, then I’ll... I’ll bloody well do it myself. I’ll use a coat hanger. I’ll...” Ian trailed off, his frantic ramblings dissolving away as he breathed shakily. Barbara winced at Ian’s words, almost feeling pain in her groin as she thought about someone untwisting a metal coat hanger and...

“I understand, Ian,” she said. “You won’t have to do anything like that. I promise.”

The Doctor put his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I also promise, my dear boy. You won’t have to resort to such drastic measures. I have plenty of medicines and medical equipment in the sick bay, and several of those can be used to perform safe abortions. There is no way I would force you to stay pregnant without your consent.”

Ian smiled weakly. “Thank you, Doctor. I just... I need to do something about this. I can’t… I can’t keep it.”

“I understand,” the Doctor said.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m forcing you into anything,” the Doctor said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is a big decision—”

“No it’s not!” Ian snapped, his voice too loud. “It’s really bloody simple. I don’t want to be pregnant any more. And that means...”

“So you’ve made up your mind?” Barbara asked.

Ian spun around to look at her, and there was such agony in his eyes. “I think I have. Please say you support me, Barbara. Please don’t judge me. You won’t hate me, will you? Won’t throw me away like my mother did to my sister when she went to some dodgy man and got an abortion illegally and opened up to her for support but instead she screamed at her. You’d still love me if I had an abortion?”

Barbara grasped his hands, interlocking their fingers. She stood up and raised herself to her full height, and stared into Ian’s eyes. “Of course I’d still love you. I support you and I love you and you having an abortion wouldn’t change anything. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s normal and healthy and people have them all the time for any number of reasons. And if I were in your situation, I’d have one too. I promise. And I promise I still love you.”

She watched Ian’s face as she spoke, and saw the fear become replaced by a look of relief. And then Ian let out a strange noise that started as a hysterical laugh but became a sob, and he hugged Barbara tightly.

“Thank you,” he said, and his voice shook; he was obviously crying. “Thank you, Barbara. Thank you thank you thank you.”

As Ian sobbed and hugged Barbara, she heard the Doctor leave the room. He was obviously giving them some privacy.

“It’s all right,” Barbara said, rubbing circles in Ian’s back. “It’s going to be all right. I promise.”

When Ian finally pulled away, his face was covered in tears, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. He looked at Barbara, brushing her hair off of her forehead with shaky fingers, and he gave her the weakest smile. Barbara took his hand and held it between both of her own. Ian’s bottom lip trembled, and when he blinked, another tear slid down his face.

“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse but also firm. “It’s going to be all right.”


	7. Chapter 7

Ian and Barbara sat down on their bed, but they knew neither of them were going to have any sleep. Once Ian had stopped crying, the Doctor told him to sleep on it and decide if he was definitely going to have an abortion in the morning. Ian wanted to argue (because he knew he wasn’t going to change his mind), but he couldn’t be bothered. So the Doctor simply patted him on the shoulder and sent them on their way. And, naturally, they went straight to their bedroom, which was where they were now.

Ian crossed his legs and hunched forwards, trying to process just how much had happened in the past few hours. Not only had he discovered the horrible fact that he was pregnant, but Barbara finally knew what had happened to him. And he was so tired and anxious, but Ian could honestly say that he felt the smallest bit better knowing he had the support of his girlfriend and the Doctor.

He kept putting his hands on his stomach. But it wasn’t like his sister-in-law, who used to put her hands on her abdomen all the time through her pregnancy. She was being protective of her foetus, putting her hands on her abdomen to make herself feel safe and to remind the world that she was pregnant. No, this was nothing like that.

Ian felt no protectiveness, no connection or anything with the embryo inside his uterus. He was trying not to think about it, but if he did, all he felt was fear and disgust. It made him feel so ill, especially if he thought about how it got there. And he never thought he would say it, but Ian was so glad the Doctor was going to give him an abortion. People would probably think that that made him a bad person, but Ian didn’t care. He was just so relieved, and he knew he would be even more relieved once it was over.

To be honest, all he was doing with his hands on his abdomen was feeling his bruises. He hit himself very hard during his panic attack, and there were bruises patterned across his lower abdomen. And he knew that his panicking self was genuinely trying to terminate the pregnancy, but Ian knew it hadn’t worked. But he knew that this time tomorrow, he really wouldn’t be pregnant any more.

Barbara was sat beside him, but she was also silent. She obviously knew that Ian was deep in thought, and she may well have been herself. Because he surely wasn’t the only one struggling to process what had happened.

Ian wanted to cry when he thought of the words Barbara said to him back in the medical bay, saying that she would support him no matter what. That she still loved him. Because Ian’s self doubt had worked wonders during these last two horrific weeks, telling him that no one would love him anymore. But his doubt was wrong. Because Barbara loved him. She still loved him. And she always would love him.

They were silent for a long time, although Ian couldn’t specify just how long. But it must have been very long, because he jumped when Barbara broke the silence.

“Ian?” she said, keeping her voice low.

He swallowed hard, wishing he didn’t jump so easily at every little thing. But that was just how he was these days. “Yes?”

“Ian, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… it might help for you to talk,” Barbara said, her voice hesitant. She obviously thought he was going to snap at her. “And… if it helps… I can go first. It’s not… it’s nothing like what happened to you, but…”

Ian turned his head, and grabbed her hand. “Don’t talk like that. This isn’t some kind of trauma competition. You’re allowed to be traumatised after something horrible.”

Barbara smiled weakly and squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

Her word sounded hollow, as though she didn’t think she deserved his reassurance.

“But… can I tell you? About what… happened in Rome?”

He saw the fear on her face; something told Ian that she was going to cry. Ian tightened his grip on her hand, interlocking their fingers.

“Of course you can,” he said. “But only if you want to.”

“I want to,” Barbara said. She sighed. “After we got split up and I was… sold, I was taken to live in Nero’s palace. He was a horrible person. He wouldn’t leave me alone. And I knew… I knew if he got me alone… he would do to me what he did to all his female slaves.”

Ian’s eyes widened. He knew Barbara was the resident history teacher, but you didn’t have to be a teacher to know all about Nero. He was a rapist. He would have raped Barbara if he got the chance. He felt sick – well, sicker than he already felt (Ian wasn’t sure if it was the… pregnancy or the anxiety, but he was feeling sick most of the time; now he thought about it, it was probably a combination of the two).

Barbara sighed again, shakily this time. “He… he was always following me around the palace, stalking me, really. And it was like some kind of warped game of hide and seek, except I sure as hell wasn’t consenting. And he always talked in this horrible sing-song voice, and he acted like it was a game, but it wasn’t. It was terrifying. I was so scared.”

That was when her voice broke. Ian heard the hitch in her speech, and realised she was crying. He looked at his girlfriend, and his own eyes filled with tears when he saw tears running down her face.

“Sorry…” she mumbled, not pulling away when Ian put his arm around her. “I’m sorry for crying.”

Ian kissed her forehead. “Don’t be sorry. Please don’t. You’re allowed to cry. And it’s good for you, to release trauma like this.”

Barbara looked at him, her tears leaving shining trails across her pale skin. Despite how they both caught the sun during their time in Rome, Ian and Barbara both looked horribly pale and sickly in the artificial light of the TARDIS.

“Thank you,” Barbara said weakly. She sniffed. “It’s just… I wish I told you back then, when we first met up again. I hate that I’ve been keeping this to myself. I should have talked.”

Ian wiped at his eyes, his lip trembling. “So do I, Barbara, so do I. I know I wanted to pretend it was all in the past, to suppress my memories and never talk about it again. But… it isn’t just in the past. It’s come with us, the trauma, the memories. Our trauma didn’t stay in Rome, no matter how much we wish it did. And… and… and it bottle it all up seemed to be making things worse.”

Barbara stared at him as though he spoke something groundbreaking or philosophical. But he wasn’t; he was simply voicing what he knew he should have done over two weeks ago, when he met back up with Barbara (and later Vicki and the Doctor), to talk about what happened and not just keep his trauma to himself until he eventually broke down.

“I… I know what you mean,” Barbara said, smiling through her tears. “We should have talked. But… why didn’t we?”

“We were struggling,” Ian said ( _and we still are,_ he added in his head). “We weren’t thinking straight. I think it’s some kind of survival instinct, to internalise everything and try to pretend everything is actually all right. And…” he trailed off, a horrible lump in his throat from suppressing tears. “And I think I didn’t want to tell because I didn’t want to bring you down with me.”

Barbara’s eyes widened. “What? Ian, what do you mean?”

He let go of Barbara, hunching forwards as though curling in on himself. “When I didn’t know you were also suffering, well… I thought it wouldn’t be fair to drag you into it with me. I felt so dreadful and hopeless and scared, and I couldn’t let you share those terrible feelings with me. It was my own problem, and I didn’t want to burden you with my own problems.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Barbara said, as firmly as she could when she was still crying. “You’re not a burden. “You are my partner, Ian, my boyfriend. I care about you more than anyone else in this whole bloody universe, and I always want to help you.” Her voice cracked again as she leaned closer, her breathing heavy with sobs. “I just wanted to help… I was so worried about you. I just wanted to stop you suffering.”

It was Ian’s turn to stare at her. “What? What do you mean, suffering?”

Barbara let out a weak chuckle that sounded like a sob. “I could tell, Ian. I’m not stupid. I knew you were having nightmares. I saw how jumpy you were. I knew you were sleep deprived just like me. I knew there was something horribly wrong. And I was right…”

More tears spilled down Barbara’s face and she put her head in her hands. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed, and Ian knew she had broken again. And there was no way to console her; she just sobbed into her hands, and no attempts at reassurance worked. And, after all, why would they? Barbara was right; there was indeed something horribly wrong.

He should have told her. He should have told someone. He should have told anyone.

But he didn’t.

He bottled everything up. He struggled alone, suffering with horrific trauma when he should have confided in someone. But he didn’t.

“Barbara?” he said, and Ian couldn’t remember a time he saw Barbara cry like this. He couldn’t remember a time when he saw anyone cry like this. “Barbara? I’m… I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you dare be sorry,” Barbara snapped, her words surprisingly clear. “Don’t you…”

Barbara wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. And Ian rubbed her back, hating himself for making his girlfriend cry.

When they fell asleep hours later, they were lying down on top of the covers, still cuddled up together.

\---

It didn’t take long for Barbara’s sleep to be hijacked by a nightmare. A confusing, nonsensical dream turned dark in a blur of tangled speech and flashes of images. And then she was back in the palace, running from Nero as he stalked her. And she heard her heart beating like a drum, everything too vivid and bright and—

“I know you’re hiding from me!”

And she heard his voice, bright and loud but with a threatening tone. Barbara felt sick, racing around corners as she tried to escape Nero, but suddenly the chains were back around her legs and she tripped. She sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath as her heart drummed and drummed.

And then there he was, approaching her down the corridor. And the smile on his face was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen, and Barbara started screaming. He moved closer and she tried to scrabble to her feet but she suddenly found she was frozen to the spot.

Dream Nero was almost there, and he grinned that terrifying smile as he said, “I’ve found you.”

When Barbara jolted back awake, it took her several terrifying seconds to remember where she was. Her eyes filled with tears and she lay very still, trembling as her heart pounded and she struggled to breathe.

Before she had time to process anything, she heard shuffling and then the light turned on. Ian was sat up beside her, studying her with a heartbroken expression on his exhausted face. The light was dazzling her, but Barbara was more focused on the tears in her eyes. Even now, she still hated to cry about this; after all, it was only a nightmare.

“Barbara?” Ian said tentatively.

Barbara sighed and shuffled into an upright position, hugging her knees to her chest. Tears ran down her face, and she lacked the energy to wipe them away.

Ian leaned closer, and Barbara realised that he had been awake for hours. “Barbara? Did you have a nightmare?”

She sighed again and nodded her head. “Yes, I did. Again.”

“Do…” Ian trailed off, swallowing hard. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Barbara shrugged. “What’s to tell? It was the normal, Ian.”

He looked at her, clearly knowing exactly what she meant. Because that was how Barbara described these nightmares she had been having ever since Rome; they were all on the same theme. She was always in Nero’s palace, and he was chasing her.

“Well… do you want a hug?” Ian asked.

“If you don’t mind,” Barbara said. Hugs couldn’t solve the problem, but they always made her feel a bit better.

And so Ian moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. Barbara’s ear pressed against his chest as they cuddled, and she heard his heart beating even faster than her own (and she was the one who had just awoken from a nightmare). And Ian rested his chin on top of her head, rubbing her back.

“I’m sorry you get nightmares, Barbara,” he whispered. “If there was any way to stop them, I would do so in a heartbeat.”

Barbara sobbed slightly, more tears spilling down her face and soaking into Ian’s pyjama top.

“Thank you,” she said shakily. “And… and I would for you too. But… we can’t, can we?”

Ian let out a shuddering sigh, and his voice was pained as he said, “No, we can’t.”

\---

The next morning, Ian and Barbara found themselves in the medical bay. From the other side of the room, the Doctor glanced up at them as he rummaged through the medical supplies, and it hurt his hearts to see them looking so tired and ill and scared. But, whilst he knew that he couldn’t solve all of their many problems, he hoped providing Ian with the abortion he so desperately wanted would solve one of them.

“How are you feeling today, Chatterton?” he asked, wandering over to Ian with the blood sample gadget in his hand.

Ian sighed heavily, clearly wanting to snap at the Doctor, either for misspelling his name or for asking such a stupid question. But he didn’t do any of that, simply muttering, “No worse than yesterday.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” the Doctor said. Barbara smiled weakly.

Ian let him take a blood sample, wincing slightly as he did so. The Doctor took his vital signs, ever grateful to have the level of medical knowledge that he did. He inserted the blood sample into the scanner, and then drew up a chair and sat next to Ian and Barbara.

“Now, my dear boy, are you still certain that you want to do this?” he asked, clasping his hands together.

“Of course I am, Doctor!” Ian snapped. He screwed his eyes up and let out a slow breath. “Sorry. But, yes, I am. I’m one hundred percent certain. Can we please do this?”

“Of course,” he said. “I just need to tell you how it will work first.”

Ian sighed impatiently, and Barbara squeezed his hand.

“Well, due to the early stage of your pregnancy, you will be having a medical abortion – that is, one done with pills instead of surgery. Which is just as well, given that I don’t know how to perform a surgical abortion.” He smiled weakly, but Ian and Barbara didn’t.

And the Doctor proceeded to explain how a medical abortion works, telling them about the two tablets Ian would have to take twenty four hours apart. One would terminate the pregnancy, and the other would cause cramping to expel the embryo from the uterus.

“It will cause cramping and bleeding,” he continued. “So you should be aware of that.”

“Doctor,” Ian said, his eyebrows raised. “I have a uterus. I know what cramping and bleeding is like.”

“Yes, Chesterfield, I know that,” the Doctor said, also raising his eyebrows. “But this is considered more painful that menstrual cramps, so you still may be taken off guard. But I will always be on hand to give you painkillers if you require them.”

Ian stared down at his lap, starting to chew on his lip. “All right. But… but I still want to do it.”

“Of course,” he said. “I was in no way trying to dissuade you. I was just being the medic and explaining how the abortion will make you feel.”

“I understand,” Ian said. “And I still want to do it. And, to be fair, it’s hardly like it can make me feel much worse.”

The Doctor understood. It hurt him to realise that he understood what Ian meant.

\---

Ian lay in bed, having retreated back to his bedroom the moment the Doctor let him go, curled up under the blankets. His stomach ached slightly, but he knew the worst was yet to come. And he just felt so tired.

He took the first pill a few minutes ago, under the supervision of the Doctor, and knew he would be going back this time tomorrow for the second and final one. And whilst this one wasn’t supposed to cause side effects, Ian still felt a bit sick. Although that might have just been the anxiety.

He knew this pill was killing the embryo, and Ian was just relieved that it didn’t have a chance to grow any larger. Thank goodness he was aborting so early in the pregnancy, because he didn’t know how (or even if) he would cope later term into the pregnancy.

But none of that mattered, because he soon wasn’t going to be pregnant anymore. That evil man’s DNA was soon to be out of him, and Ian might start to feel more stable in himself once this was all over.

At least, he hoped he would. Because he didn’t think he would be able to last much longer feeling this awful.

\---

It was the middle of the night, but Ian and Barbara were making no attempts to speak. Sat in their bed, they both had an open book in their hands, but Barbara probably wasn’t the only one struggling to concentrate long enough to read more than a few words. And it was several hours into her failed attempt at reading when Ian spoke for the first time.

“I… I think I want to talk about it,” Ian said, stumbling over his words.

Barbara looked at him. The effects of the first pill were over, but Ian still had his arms wrapped around himself. And he still looked so ill. She was almost certain she knew what he was talking about, but Barbara still felt like she needed to specify.

“Talk about what?”

“About what happened to me,” he said, ducking his head.

Because Ian still hadn’t talked about his own traumatic experience. He listened and supported Barbara when she broke down talking about hers, but Ian never got around to talking about his. Maybe he was putting it off.

But that wasn’t important, because he wanted to talk about it now.

“Are you sure?” Barbara asked, remembering how vulnerable and upset she felt recounting what happened to her.

Ian didn’t look convinced in the slightest, but he nodded his head. “I’m sure.”

He heaved a deep breath and grasped Barbara’s hand. Obviously because of anxiety, the palm of his hand was soaked with sweat. But Barbara didn’t let go.

“When… when we were separated, they moved us to a new prison, right near the Gladiator coliseum in Rome. And, one night, they took us all away from the camp to use the toilet. And all the men were urinating against a tree and the women went into the bushes, and… and I didn’t know what to do. And… and I said I couldn’t go and they assumed that meant my genitals didn’t work properly. So they made me pull my pants down…”

Ian trailed off, his eyes brimming with tears. In the glow of their bedside lamps, his eyes shone like gemstones.

“You don’t have to carry on, Ian?” Barbara said, hating what recounting this memory was doing to him.

Ian ignored her and carried on speaking, screwing his eyes up. “And my packer fell out and they saw my genitals and they said I was a woman pretending to be a man. And one of them looked positively sadistic and after he made the other guards take the rest of the prisoners back to their cells, he grabbed my chains and pulled me into the bushes.” Ian was babbling now, forcing the words out rapidly as he trembled violently. “He… he pinned me down and kissed me and… and he… he raped me…”

Ian’s voice gave out and he covered his head with his hands. His fingers dug into his hair and he groaned, tears running down his face. He curled in on himself, and he looked so scared and vulnerable right then.

And Barbara wanted to throw up. She didn’t know what to say, how to talk to Ian. What could she say? How could she in any way reassure him? She hadn’t been through something as horrific as that, so surely her words would sound patronising or hollow or fake no matter what she said.

And, just as when she first found out that Ian had been raped, she started crying. It just hurt her so much to know that Ian, her partner, her boyfriend, the man she loved more than anyone else, could have been through something so horrible. How could this have happened to him? Why couldn’t it have been her? Why did they ever have to go to Rome?

Barbara went to put her arm around him, but Ian flinched away. He was obviously hyper alert, and being touched made him panic. And she didn’t want to make him panic, especially on top of everything already happening.

In the end, there was nothing she could do to console him. She just had to sit beside him, watching Ian cry as tears ran down her own face, wishing there was something she could do to help.

But when Ian finally stopped crying, he looked at her with swollen, bloodshot eyes, and there was the saddest smile on his face.

“Thank you for staying with me,” he said.

And Barbara realised that her presence must have done something to help Ian, and she was just so glad there was something she did to help when poor Ian was breaking down.

“It’s not a problem,” Barbara said. “Are you feeling better now?”

Ian sniffed and rested his head against her shoulder. “Much better. I think I just had a panic attack of some kind. But... but it’s over now. And… and I’m still glad I told you. I just felt like I needed to tell someone.”

Barbara rubbed a hand across his back. She knew what that felt like.

“And thank you for listening, Barbara,” Ian said.

She kissed his teary cheek. “You’re welcome.”

\---

Soon, it was time for the second dose. Once he had taken it (he wasn’t very impressed to find that it wasn’t taken orally), the Doctor patted his shoulder and handed him a packet of sanitary towels.

Ian grimaced at the sight of him. He always hated wearing sanitary towels. “Do I have to?”

“I’m afraid so,” the Doctor said. “You need to wear them for when the bleeding starts. It should start in about four hours, but it might be sooner.”

Ian sighed heavily, but he took the packet and went to put one inside his underpants. When he came out of the bathroom, Barbara linked arms with him. They headed to their bedroom, knowing that would be the best place for Ian to rest.

“At least they’re not as big as the ones from the 60s,” she said, referencing the huge pads (complete with a belt, as they lacked the adhesive to stick to the underwear) they had to wear back in their own time. Compared to those, the ones the Doctor gave him were positively tiny.

Ian smiled. “Yes, I suppose that’s a bonus.”

He resented having to wear the sanitary towel, but it turned out that he needed it. Because when the bleeding started, it was dreadful. It started when he was curled up in bed, and Ian was instantly reminded of his period when he was younger.

But it turned out that the bleeding was nothing compared to the cramps. The Doctor was right; they were much worse than menstrual cramps. Ian’s abdomen cramped and cramped, pains stabbing him in the lower torso like someone just stabbed him and was now twisting the blade. It was horrible.

He groaned, swallowing the painkillers the Doctor placed beside his bed. He hoped they would kick in quickly, but he was certain they would take ages.

Part of him wondered if he deserved this pain. After all, taking these medications was killing and expelling the embryo from his body. And maybe he deserved the pain for what he was doing.

But the rest of him dismissed these thoughts. He wasn’t a religious man, and so had no ties to a religious scripture’s views on abortion. And he knew the embryo was barely bigger than a pea at this stage in the pregnancy, and so had not developed into what some might call a baby. It was just an embryo, an embryo which he never wanted inside him in the first place. It didn’t have permission to be here, and Ian wanted to evict it. And that was what he was doing.

And he should never have been pregnant in the first place. What with the trauma and how this pregnancy was making his dysphoria come back with a vengeance, he knew he could never make it full term with this thing inside of him. Yes, an abortion was the right way to go for his own sanity. Definitely. And he didn’t feel ashamed.

This was his choice.

\---

Finally, the cramps and bleeding stopped. In the medical bay, the Doctor gave him a quick check and confirmed that the abortion had finished. Ian didn’t know quite what to think, but the relief almost made him cry. In fact, the relief made him wrap his arms around the Doctor and hug him tightly.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said, smiling.

The Doctor smiled too. “You’re welcome, Chatterton.”

Ian didn’t know what to do with himself. But he did know one thing: he wanted to get out of the medical bay. He hated it in here, and had spent far too much time here in the last few days. And so he took Barbara’s hand they walked off through the TARDIS.

At one point, he bumped into Vicki, and she looked so happy when Ian smiled at her. She didn’t know what happened (and she never would, for that matter), but she clearly knew that something had gone right for him.

“Are you feeling better, Ian?” she asked.

“I think I am,” he said, and he meant it. He genuinely felt a lot better now he had had the abortion and he had opened up to Barbara about what happened.

A few hours later, he was hit by a flashback that left him crying in a heap on the floor. And that was when Ian remembered that this wasn’t the end of his problems. He was still traumatised, badly traumatised and suffering from his ordeal in Ancient Rome. The abortion solved his problem with the desperately unwanted pregnancy, but the rest of his issues were far from over.

But, whilst he was still struggling, Ian knew life was going to get better. He had support, close friendships and a wonderful relationship with his wonderful girlfriend. And they all cared about him so much, and wanted to help, and Ian knew he didn’t have to suffer in silence any more.

And, for the first time in what had been the worst fortnight in his life, Ian felt hopeful. He might get better one day, or he might not, but whatever happened, he knew he had Barbara and the Doctor and Vicki to help and talk to and be with. They were always going to be here for him. And, with their help, life might just become bearable again.

At least, he hoped so.


End file.
